Youth
by olivieblake
Summary: "Whatever this life brings us, my youth will have always been yours." Amidst the rise of an imminent threat, some people fall together as others fall apart. Love, power, Marauders, and everything in between. Year 7 with opening Snily and eventual Jily. Prequel to "Clean" and "Marked," book III in "This World or Any Other" series. COMPLETE.
1. The Letter

**_This World or Any Other_ : Book III**

 **Youth**

 _ **Summary:**_ " _Whatever this life brings us, my youth will have always been yours." Amidst the rise of an imminent threat, some people fall together as others fall apart. Love, power, Marauders, and everything in between. Year 7 with opening Snily and eventual Jily. Prequel to_ " _Clean" and "Marked," book III in "This World or Any Other" series._

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _I do not own these characters and claim no profit from this work. Credit where credit is due, Joanne Rowling._

 _ **a/n:**_ _No, you're not imagining things, this story definitely_ was _originally posted in July 2016, and was subsequently removed when I used pieces of it in a manuscript for an original novel. However, since that novel has been vastly reworked, it no longer contains any vestiges of this story, and I'm now opting to repost it on the interwebs. It is_ complete _, so you won't have long to wait if you're following along, but it will be edited and posted in frequent installments (depending on the pace of my edits)._ _ **Please note the pairings in the summary**_ _; one of my primary angsts when the story was originally being written was how many readers were (loudly) unwilling to read about one pairing or the other, so please do be aware what is in store for you here._ Youth _is a prequel to the Dramione works_ Clean _and_ Marked _, but it can stand alone in the trilogy. It is largely accurate to canon._

 _Thank you for joining me here—whether you are a new or returning victim—and as always, I hope you enjoy the story._

* * *

 **Prelude: The Letter**

* * *

July 1, 1978

 _Dear Severus,_

 _While I can scarcely presume to know how you feel, know that it hurts me at least as much to write this as it does for you to hear it. I'm not perfect, you know, and perhaps I'm being selfish, but I can't imagine a world where I don't say these words to you. So forgive me, Sev, in advance._

 _I know you don't understand the choices I've made, and in the interest of not dragging us through any more suffering, I won't try to explain them to you. I could easily say the same for yours, you know, but I won't. Not now. I want us to end where we started—_

 _With_ love _._

 _I know that my choosing James must feel like a betrayal to you, and I hate to say I understand, though I can assure you that he's changed. I can see your face as I write that and I don't know whether to laugh or cry, knowing I'll probably never see you that way again, your dark hair falling into your eyes while you give me that moody stare of yours—but I'll get to that. I'll get there._

 _It's important to me that you know that what I have with James will never diminish anything I shared with you. You're my first love, Severus, and while that may not be good enough, it will still always be good. It will always have been consuming and raw and a defining piece of me, and a light with which to look back on everything that's happened. I prefer to preserve you that way, in the stolen moments before everything got so horribly contorted in the midst of all this. This war._

 _We can't come back from what's happened, nor would I want to. We aren't who we were, and I like to think that's because there's something out there for who we're going to be. Both of us, Sev. For both of us._

 _I'm rambling, I know. I know you hate that. You love a concise point, and I've always had too much whimsy for you, haven't I? I'll make my point now. You would want me to. I can see your face, like always; I can hear my name on your lips._ Just say it, Lily.

 _Alright, Severus. I will._

 _It comes to this, in the end: my future belongs to James. I have grown up, and I've made my choice, as you've made yours. But I beg you, Severus, to look back on us with fondness, because whatever this life brings us, my youth will have always been yours._

 _There. I've said it, and now maybe my heart will let me rest. Be safe, Severus, and be happy; for everything that's passed between us, I sincerely hope you find what you're looking for._

 _Always,_

 _Lily_

* * *

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
September 1, 1977_

* * *

God, who wants to be remembered as unfailingly kind?

Nobody, that's who. _Least_ of all Lily Evans, though it seemed that would be her lot in life.

"This way," she called patiently, tossing her dark red hair over her shoulders as she motioned to the Prefects who, in turn, were leading their house members like ducklings into the Great Hall. She winced at an uncomfortable poke to her ribs and frowned at the realization that her bra was twisted, the hooks of it now digging relentlessly into her back.

She supposed that was her own fault. Anticipation, among other things, obviously chipped away at her typically fastidious nature.

Still, it was almost comforting to know she had a secret. She could be more than just _unfailingly kind_ , couldn't she? More than just the smile that was always so artfully plastered on her face. She was Lily Evans, Head Girl; she contained _multitudes_. She could have secrets, and as she felt Severus brush past her without a word, she bit back a triumphant smile at the thought that she not only could, but _she did._

"Something entertaining, Evans?" James Potter asked obnoxiously, materializing at her side. His untidy raven hair, consistently a source of a well-deserved eye roll, was even more unruly than usual.

"Yes," Lily replied sweetly. "It never fails to be laughable that _you're_ Head Boy."

"Well, funny what one can accomplish when blessed with my intellect and charisma," James assured her, clipping her with his shoulder as he abruptly bisected her path, grinning. "Try not to fall in love with me, would you? Enclosed spaces and all that."

"What do you mean _enclosed spaces_?" Lily echoed skeptically, glaring at him as he strutted forward to join the rest of his motley crew.

Infuriatingly, he winked. He _winked,_ shamelessly, like the arrogant monster he was. "Tell you when you get to the Head dorms, Evans."

 _Head dorms?_

Lily let her head loll back, trying not to groan aloud. She knew Severus had seen the interaction; he always did. He was likely catching the aftermath of it now, and so she forced a bolder, brighter smile, hoping he wouldn't note her discomfort from across the room—though he probably would, she lamented, and then his irksome rivalry with Potter would only fester.

 _Head dorms_?

She took a deep breath and launched herself forward, determined not to bend to her misgivings.

 _Head dorms?_

 _With James Potter?_

Well, determination could only do so much.

She settled herself beside him at the Gryffindor house table, catching Severus' eye and coquettishly ducking her head even as she ducked Potter's incessant wild gestures. He was caught up in a story—as he always was, with a smirking Sirius Black at his side—but instead of listening (or returning any covert glances), Lily merely let her eyes travel over the Hall. Around the room, she felt countless familiar sets of eyes falling on hers; some of them awed, some of them envious, some of them spiteful. She couldn't blame them for their attention, really. She might have once been nothing more than Lily Evans, try-hard muggleborn, but now she was Lily Evans, _Head Girl_. Talk about vindication, and that was barely the half of it.

After all, she was _also_ Lily Evans, Head Girl—with a secret. She tried not to watch Severus' lips where they brushed against his goblet.

That, plus one small caveat. Lily Evans, Head Girl—with the earth's biggest prat for company. She could only imagine the outcome of forced coexistence with James Potter's hair products and his uninhibited penchant for nonsense.

Lily Evans, Head Girl.

She sighed. Whatever the school year might hold in store for her, good or bad, it certainly couldn't fail to be interesting.


	2. The Self-Preservation

**Chapter 2: The Self-Preservation**

* * *

 _What is the state of things, you might ask? The headlines will tell you._

 _Mysterious disappearances: two, both muggleborn; low-ranking members of the Ministry. Damage to public works: one small bridge, one medium tunnel—muggles without explanation. Muggle body count: higher than anyone wishes to discuss. Political climate: chilly, with a hint of disturbing calm._

* * *

"I can't believe we're being split up into separate corners of the castle," Peter grumbled. He had fallen in step with James and Sirius' evenly patterned gait, comfortably shrugging on their signature nonchalance as though he was privy to it by proximity.

"We managed just fine last year," James reminded him, bounding ahead on the stairs. "I'd say we maintained an appropriate level of shenanigans even with Remus tucked away in the Prefect dorms."

"I like to think we're above _shenanigans_ at this point," Sirius corrected him lazily. "I imagine we've reached an age where we've graduated to hijinks."

"Well, you all can call it whatever you like," Remus said quietly, his arm brushing pointedly against Sirius' shoulder as he trotted up the stairs behind James, "but I'll just call it 'continuing to live my life,' I think."

"Still," Peter insisted, dragging a bit in their wake. " _Three_ different dorms this year?"

"You still have Padfoot," James suggested cheerily, pausing to toss Peter a look of unapologetic smugness. He knew perfectly well that Sirius spent fewer nights in Gryffindor Tower than would reasonably be expected from a person who lived there—but being the one who didn't have to worry about such things, it was an easy jab to make.

"Right," Peter grumbled, flashing him an irritated glare.

"What was the official reason Dumbledore gave for having Prefect dorms, again?" Sirius asked smoothly, taking a long stride to reach his arm over Remus' shoulder. "Something about the greater good?"

"Dumbledore felt that it would be more beneficial for the Prefects to live near each other in the event of a castle-wide emergency," Remus recited blankly, though he leaned comfortably into Sirius' grip. He'd grown accustomed to the teasing; so much so that it wasn't even fun anymore.

Not _as_ fun, anyway.

"Are you sure it wasn't just that the werewolf needs his privacy?" James asked, feigning innocence.

"Doesn't sound familiar," Remus replied, unfazed. James let out a low chuckle.

"Silly me," he conceded. "I must be misinformed."

"I'm surprised you're not more chatty, Prongs," Sirius remarked obnoxiously, gifting him a classically taunting smirk. "You've just been granted a whole year living alone with Evans and you've not got a thing to say?"

"He's given up on her," Remus supplied, his tired eyes sparkling momentarily. "Remember?"

"You joke, but I'm completely serious about that," James retorted stubbornly, stifling a groan. "I no longer possess any lingering interest in Evans." Abruptly, he paused his lengthy strides, raising a finger as they all came to a sudden halt behind him. "There," he announced crisply, staring off into nothing. "I've just forgotten her name."

"Good for you, Prongs," Sirius said spiritedly, draping his free arm across James' shoulders and nudging him forward. "Finally developed a fucking sense of self-preservation, have you?"

"His ego can only take so much abuse," Peter added, latching onto the joke. James grimaced.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," he sniffed, scolding Peter in his schooled, aristocratic way. "By all means, carry on."

"What will we _possibly_ deride you for, Prongs, if not your unrequited love for Evans?" Sirius prompted, pursing his lips in mock thought. "Surely not your vanity… or your undying prattishness…"

"His hair," Remus interrupted in his quiet way. "Surely not his perfect hair."

Sirius coquettishly let his eyes widen, aghast. "I would _never—_ "

"You're all dickheads," James proclaimed, cutting him off sharply with a haughty shrug.

"As are you," Sirius quipped steadily, pointedly side-stepping a pretty fifth year who was gazing up at him in awe.

"Ah, but I'm _Head_ Dickhead," James reminded him, smirking in utter triumph. "And as we've now arrived at my luxurious Head Dickhead accommodations, it is with little to no regret that I leave you low-achieving peons behind."

"My Lord," Sirius offered grandly, inclining his head in a stunningly irreverent bow.

James permitted his best friend a momentary, fleeting scowl before turning haughtily to the portrait on his right. It was a Botticelli-esque Venus who was blinking vacuously at him, her free hand beckoning.

"Um," he ventured, and he pivoted at a chuckle behind him.

"You don't know the password," Remus guessed, fighting a smile.

"The height of luxury indeed," Sirius supplied gravely.

"Shut it," James snapped wearily, eyeing the Venus. "I—um. I wasn't told—"

"Password?" she crooned unhelpfully, sweeping her long hair out of her eyes as the soft breeze that seemed to live within the portrait displaced a handful of strands.

"Er," James said hesitantly, fighting to ignore the growing evidence of poorly stifled laughter behind him. "I—"

Suddenly, the portrait swung open, prompting all four of them to leap back in alarm.

"Is there a purpose to you loitering in the hallway?" Lily prompted, hands primly set on her hips as she glanced up at the Venus, who was gazing rather adoringly at James. "Oh _please_ , for heaven's sake—"

"What's the password, Evans?" James sniffed, squaring his shoulders and swallowing his feelings of inexpressible dismay as his closest friends continued to torment him with their ongoing presence.

"It's—" She stopped, glaring at the three who stood behind him. "It's none of _your_ business, of course," she informed them, folding her arms over her chest.

"Lils," Sirius drawled, stepping forward and placing both hands on her shoulders. "Lily. Evans. My porcelain darling, my cherished light—"

"Get to the point, Black—"

"My _point_ , cherub," Sirius drawled, "and I'll thank you for not rushing me—is that we're going to know the password anyway." At her exasperated sigh, he winked. "So, all things considered, you might as well make it easier for everyone involved."

"Can we at least _pretend_ that James has managed to arrive at Head Boy by some reasonable assertion of merit? Or even carry the farce a step further and presume he might be capable of following the rules?" Lily scoffed. "Can we try _that_ , maybe, as a fun experiment for the day?"

"Hardly sounds fun in the slightest, sweets," Sirius remarked, "but if you're feeling ambitious—"

She made an incoherent sound of strangled frustration. "Fine," she barked, glowering at James as though this were somehow _his_ fault. "It's Sanare Pura."

"The potion?" James echoed, brow raised. "Nerdy choice, Evans."

"I didn't choose it!" she snapped. "And if _you'd_ bothered to pay attention to Professor McGonagall's instructions—"

"What, and deny myself the dulcet tones of your incessant scolding?" James returned, scowling. "Why bother, when I can be treated like a child _twice_?"

"If you don't want to be treated like a child, then don't behave like one," Lily sniffed, knocking into him as she swept into the hall, waltzing away. "Try not to cause too much destruction, would you? I've only just gotten everything arranged."

"Where are you going?" James shouted after her, incalculably furious with her for her preposterous lack of interest, or else her intolerable sashaying. "We'll have to do rounds, you know—"

"Remembered you have responsibilities then, have you?" she retorted, pausing only to glare at him. "Congratulations, Potter."

She turned the corner without a second glance.

"So," Remus ventured carefully, after several moments of silence had passed. "When's the wedding?"

"She's hopeless," James replied tightly, gritting his teeth. "A girl's got to be more than just attractive, you know."

"Ah, fiery temper not doing it for you, Lord Potter?" Sirius drawled, leaning against the open portrait hole. "You prefer your women meek and mild?"

James groaned. "I never _said_ —"

"Prongs is just hurt she never allows him the last word," Peter cut in snottily, and James rolled his eyes.

"That's enough from you," he determined crossly, glaring at all three of them. "I _used_ to be soft on her, okay? Before I figured out she was a bossy, arrogant swot." He grimaced, biting the inside of his cheek at the reminder of her insufferable _Evans_ -ness. "She's impossible."

"Impossible to get?" Sirius prompted innocently.

"Impossible to live with!" James retorted, tousling his hair with a frustrated sigh and glancing up at the Venus, who was now fluttering her eyelashes lasciviously at him. "At this point, I think I'd rather move down to the shack."

"Nice as it is, I think a monthly visit there is more than sufficient," Remus replied briskly, never especially fond of the times James' tendency towards the dramatic allowed inapt comparisons between their vastly different situations. "Besides," he added, gesturing forward with his chin. "I think you might want to give this another chance."

James turned stiffly over his shoulder, finally glancing inside the portrait's entrance to gain a full view of what would be his new quarters.

"Oh," he managed, and Remus nodded smugly; _I told you so._

The interior of the so-called Head dorm was a vast, split-level common room, complete with high vaulted ceilings and grand, ornate pillars that provided the open space a sense of inarguable stateliness, even against the whimsy of the enchanted stars that glittered above. Presumably because he and Lily were both Gryffindors, the common room was decked out in a bewitching crimson, the plush, inviting seating area featuring a rich, crushed velvet that was only superior to the Gryffindor common room in that it was almost entirely _his_. Grandiose mahogany furniture that accounted for a private library and study area were featured to his right, a massive, roaring fire to his left, and straight ahead there was a gleaming, elaborate pair of curving staircases that accented the center of the room. Overall it was a stunning exercise in symmetry that left James, who was not entirely unaccustomed to the extravagance of excess wealth, breathless and dwarfed by its opulence.

"Fucking ' _oh'_ is right," Sirius agreed, stepping out behind him and allowing the portrait to fall shut. "Prince Potter indeed."

"Nevermind the shack," James announced. "I'll make do."

"You certainly will," Remus agreed, and Peter darted around them, falling forward into the many pillows of a particularly overstuffed armchair.

"'Sanare Pura,' was it, Prongs?" Peter muttered, his voice muffled into the excess material. "Just going to tuck that in the old memory bank." He burrowed himself in deeper, sighing in satisfaction. "No reason, obviously—"

"This is not a free-for-all," James scolded him, walking over to toss a spare pillow against his back. "This is _my_ room."

"And Lily's," Sirius added, detestably chipper at the reminder. "It would almost be perfect, then, if she didn't find you to be… oh, you know." He shrugged. "A complete and utter prat."

"Ah yes, do go on," James muttered, flashing him a look. "By all means, continue—"

"Alright," Sirius agreed. "Where was I? Ah yes," he determined, beginning to enumerate on his fingers, "a complete and utter prat, naturally, check that off the list—oh, and a failure as a leader, check. Ah, a general disappointment as a human being, check—"

"Don't forget she doesn't seem to care for his carefully curated image," Remus contributed solemnly.

"Right, check plus to that," Sirius agreed firmly, nodding his gratitude at the reminder. "Strangely, she seems immune to his hair—"

"Message received!" James barked, folding his arms over and aiming another half-hearted smack against Peter's back with a particularly firm pillow. "Get out now, would you?"

"Honestly, a few hours as Head Boy and he loses all sense of hospitality," Sirius muttered loudly to Remus, who chuckled a little, letting a stray hand linger to the loop of Sirius' trousers.

"Well, if it's all the same to you, I _would_ like to have some time before bed," Remus said carefully, his eyes straying meaningfully to Sirius.

James, who was rather familiar with Remus' proclivity for secrecy, said nothing at the implication, though he aimed a rather fervent jab into Peter's ribs.

"You heard him," he grunted, and Peter groaned.

"You're so selfish, James Potter," he muttered brusquely, struggling to his feet.

"And yet I make it look so good," James remarked, nudging him.

It took several more prodding minutes for the three of them to traipse out of the room, but in the blissful peace of their absence James was finally reminded the unrivaled privileges of solitude. It had been ages since he'd really been alone; he wouldn't trade Sirius' presence in his home for anything, of course, but he _was_ an only child—an adored one, at that—and sharing had never come naturally to him.

James opted for the right-hand staircase and took the steps quickly, two at a time. The first door he reached was ajar, revealing a spacious bedroom that contained his already-deposited trunk, a comfortably sized bed with a crisp, ivory duvet, a comprehensible wardrobe, a small bookcase, and a rather fanciful antique writing desk. Everything he would need, in short, for a year as a student, and one that had finally been permitted the blessing of personal space.

He stepped back out onto the landing to glance at a door on the right, pulling it open with a wary sensation of dread to confirm that he and Lily would indeed be sharing a bathroom. _Not the greatest of circumstances_ , he thought grimly, though one glance at the common room below reminded him that he had no compelling reason to complain.

 _Gratitude,_ he reminded himself, returning to his room and falling backwards against the softness of the bedding. _Don't be difficult._

He'd come so far, after all. Head Boy without being named Prefect? Practically unheard of. _Actually_ unheard of, as far as he knew, and he might have thought it an odd joke of Dumbledore's if not for the _very real_ effort that had been expended to get there. He'd managed to pull it together, grades and attitude and behavior; and why?

 _No reason_ , he thought, his eyes traveling to the wall he shared with his conspicuously absent dorm mate.

* * *

It had been a matter of hours and yet she'd hastened into his arms; not that Severus minded. He'd certainly faced enough trials in his life to know that having to hold her wasn't one.

"Lily," he murmured against her lips, taking hold of her hands as she shoved him gracelessly against the wall. "Lily, slow down—"

"I can't," she retorted, pouting. Her laughing green eyes were darkened with mischief and misbehavior. "I only have a few minutes."

Severus was not a man given to smiles—or to pleasure, really, considering his lack of familiarity with the concept—but he could feel the tight corners of his lips slipping now. She'd always lured it out of him—happiness; or whatever it was, as that seemed unnecessarily poetic—and he felt the tug in his chest, the unrelenting pull of her loveliness. He thanked whatever deity would listen for the night she'd turned around.

" _I'm sorry."_

" _I'm not interested."_

" _I'm sorry!"_

" _Save your breath. I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here."_

" _I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you mudblood, it just_ — _"_

" _Slipped out? It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends_ — _you see, you don't even deny it! You don't even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you? I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine."_

" _No_ — _listen, I didn't mean_ — _"_

"— _to call me mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?"_

" _Lily—Wait!"_

Now, in the relief of his present, Severus gently brushed the long auburn hair out of her eyes, bowing in worship to whoever might be listening that she had _turned around_.

" _What, Severus? What can you possibly say?"_

" _I can't say anything. I can't."_

" _Then what—"_

" _Just let me show you. Please. Let me show you it was a mistake."_

" _Severus."_

" _You're a better person than I am, Lily—you always have been. Don't give up on me yet, and I'll show you. I promise to show you."_

She hadn't wanted to forgive him, and yet that was her way. Seeing the good in others. In him.

She couldn't help her better nature.

It hadn't happened immediately—and it certainly hadn't happened that night—but still, it had happened. It _happened_ , and surely it was only because she'd turned around. He held her closer, gripped her tighter, just thinking about how things might have been if she hadn't; what little they might have amounted to if she'd kept walking, and they'd fallen apart. So much of their relationship was rooted in gratitude, he thought; _his_ gratitude, specifically. He was grateful for her, for her merciful warmth and her unrivaled kindness; for every perfect inch of her, and every blessed particle of her soul.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered, running her thumb across his lower lip to drag him back to the present. "You're giving me that look again."

He shifted, glancing down at her. "What look?"

"This one." She mimicked him with an exaggeratedly broody glance, lips pursed with her eyes slightly narrowed, and it took everything he had not to laugh outright at the absurdity. "You know. Your angsty, Severus-y, lost-in-contemplation look."

"I didn't realize it had a name," he remarked, giving her a wry smirk as he took her hand, relishing in the softness of her touch.

"Foolish of you," she replied, and tilted her face up for a kiss that he willingly gave her, her chin gripped possessively in his hand.

 _"I promise to show you."_

She'd turned around that night, and the momentary pull, the knowledge that she hadn't quite stopped listening (which, surely, must have frustrated her as equally as it motivated him) had given him hope. Almost losing her had given him the ferocious kick he'd desperately needed; after all, he wasn't particularly given to excess displays of emotion, and could surely have gone a matter of years never disclosing to her what he'd kept in the inner chambers of his heart.

Severus had discovered early on that emotions were crippling, but to his immense fortune (and at times, mighty disappointment), he'd only ever had them for her.

If Severus hadn't been the type to have emotions, he certainly wasn't the type to have friends, either. If the problem was his friends, he'd thought, then so be it. He withdrew from them—from what she'd called his _Death Eater friends_ —and kept to himself. He bided his time, waiting. He'd never had a use for friends anyway; didn't know what to do with them. He figured he was the type more likely to have associates, really. Colleagues, even, or peers. The one friend he _did_ have was enough, particularly considering she was so easily adaptable to other roles—confidant. Companion. Lover.

It permitted him the luxury of only ever loving once. Loving fully, certainly, but loving rather singularly. An exhaustive kind of love.

Exhausting—but fulfilling, too.

It had happened the first time the way first times usually do. Just tripping and falling into the unfamiliar and finding with a stunning, soaring relief that it was right. That _he_ was right.

She was kind, yes, and warm, but stubborn too, and so it hadn't been immediate. Luckily—and truly, it must have been luck—she was equally stubborn in her kindness. It wasn't in her nature to deny second chances (or third, or fourth, or whatever he'd worked himself up to in this, the only arena he seemed to repeatedly fail) but still, for months they'd been separate. She'd been wary of him, and he didn't blame her, knowing as he did that it was his turn to prove something; his worth, or at the very least, his loyalty. The fulfillment of his promise to her.

For months they were separate, and he was patient. He had slipped easily into solitude; it had been a habit before Lily and surely would be without her. He would wait, he told himself. He could afford to wait.

And then it was summer.

The July night had been sticky and still, Severus' mind foggy and burdened. He and his mother had always struggled to coexist; a space could only stand to contain so much misery.

His melancholy had always gravitated toward hers. The thicket of trees; of course she had been there.

" _This is my spot, Severus."_

He hadn't known whether to laugh or cry.

" _No it's not,"_ he'd said wearily. " _It's ours."_

She had been quiet that day, uncharacteristically so, and thoughtful. Perhaps she was burdened as well; home was not the easy place it had once been for her, and he knew it. _She knew_ he knew it, had once known all of her most intimate and fearful thoughts, and perhaps that was why she could manage to forgive. Maybe that's why she said what she said.

" _I didn't mean for you to alienate yourself. I didn't mean for you to be alone."_

She'd seemed sad, and he'd shrugged.

" _If that's what it takes."_

She was not a person who was easily swayed, never easily convinced.

" _It's not just about who you're friends with. It's more than that, Sev, it's—it's—"_

He nearly lost himself in the unutterable battle of her hesitation.

" _I know."_

" _You don't."_

" _Don't I?"_

He was extraordinarily intelligent, after all. It was his mind that got him into trouble, and his irrepressible need to invent abhorrent things that had first begun to drive her away. He hadn't needed her to spell out for him the many ways he had been so unequivocally wrong.

She'd shifted under his gaze.

" _It's harder than it looks, Severus."_

" _What is?"_

He'd asked, but he had some guesses.

He'd thought, initially, she might have meant her birth; might have been referencing it as a means by which to remind him how he'd failed her with his mindless (and therefore careless) slip. He presumed that she might have meant the way people always underestimated her; the way she had to work twice as hard to earn the honors she had—to be patted on the head and told she was a brilliant witch, a gifted one—all while being constantly subjected to the unspoken qualification: a brilliant witch, a gifted one—

 _For a muggleborn._

But he knew Lily Evans; knew her quite thoroughly, in fact, and his second thought was that perhaps she had meant the way her sister, the closest friend she'd had on earth aside from him, had all but turned on her. Perhaps she'd meant the difficulty of living with the knowledge that wizarding society was loath to accept her, coupled with the understanding that she'd already gone much too far to be a muggle. She'd always straddled both worlds, and she made it look easy, but Severus knew it was not.

He thought that's what she'd meant, and perhaps, in a sense, it was; though it hadn't been what she'd eventually confessed.

" _It's harder than it looks, Severus."_

" _What is?"_

" _Being away from you."_

If it had been Severus—well, if it had been Severus, he wouldn't have had the nerve to say it at all, so that point was largely moot. But if he _had_ , if it had it been _he_ who'd had the courage to be honest, surely he'd have kept his eyes on the ground, paralyzed by his insecurity, by his fear, by his lifetime of knowledge that vulnerability had only ever brought hardship. But _she_ was not that way. Lily Evans knew no fear and so she stared at him, her green eyes fixed on his, unabashed with her truth.

He'd bowed in worship to whoever might be listening that she had _turned around_.

It wasn't so hard to close the gap between them after that, and her sigh against his lips had rendered him helpless, speechless, and whole. It was a matter of seeking comfort. Perhaps it always had been, because surely he had never known comfort like _this_ —like the feeling of home in the hollow of her arms or the deafening quake of her gasp in his ear.

He had recognized the white flag and jumped.

It was easy during the summer, of course. Alone, in their own world, it was idyllic and enchanting. It was the business of fitting back into each other's lives that had been… difficult, to say the least.

Sure, Severus might have argued that he had his own set of demands—his own appearances to maintain—but they had both understood implicitly that it was _he_ who was bad for _her_. She wanted to think herself above such things, but he knew she thrived on adoration, on the knowledge that she was accepted by her peers the way she had never been by her sister, and the way she couldn't be with Severus Snape— _poorly dressed, poorly fed, wholly inadequate_ —lingering in her life. She would never admit as much, and he would never accuse her, but even knowing what went unspoken between us, he was more than happy to fade into secrecy, so long as he could still have her. So long as she was his, he would allow James Potter his showboating, allow Sirius Black his broody appeal (which wasn't fooling anyone, of course, and Severus least of all) so long as she still sought comfort in his arms. He would endure the taunts if it meant that at the end of _this_ —this era of juvenile oppression and forcible containment—he might have her for his own.

For always.

"What are you thinking about?" Lily asked again, her eyes still closed as he pulled away.

"You," he said honestly, and she smiled.

"I only have a few more minutes, Sev," she sighed, leaning into his chest and glancing down at her watch. "Less than that, even—"

"It's okay," he assured her, confident in the only thing he knew to be true. "We have plenty of time."

* * *

 _ **a/n:** Thank you to oblivionbaby for loving this fic enough to help me with the edits!_


	3. The Tension

**Chapter 3: The Tension**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: one family of muggles, one wizarding journalist. Arson: present. Creatures: restless. Political climate: fingers pointed when backs are turned, moody silence, storms ahead._

* * *

Lily stormed up to the Venus portrait as James Potter, arsehole extraordinaire, continued to chase after her, knocking past the scattered students who were trying to make their way back to their common rooms as he repeatedly called out her name.

"Sanare Pura," she announced primly, tapping her foot with impatience as the Venus slowly combed out her hair, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

Behind her, James was panting. "Evans!"

She checked over her shoulder with a groan to find that he had nearly caught up, though she opted in favor of continuing to ignore him. "Sanare Pura," she repeated, slower this time, and louder, as if elocution might have made a difference. Unsurprisingly, it didn't; much to her immense displeasure, the Venus had already begun making eyes at James, ignoring Lily entirely.

"Password?" the portrait cooed to him, and James held up a hand for pause, bending to catch his breath.

"San-" he stopped, coughing. "It's—hold on—"

"Oh, for Godric's sake," Lily seethed, gritting her teeth as she gave the Venus her sternest glare. "It's Sanare Pura," she said again, fighting the urge to scream, "and if that sounds familiar to you, it's because I've now said it _three times_!"

In response, the Venus made a breathtaking face of contemptuous displeasure.

"Please," James added, offering the portrait his best version of Sirius' broody smolder. The Venus giggled and complied, swinging open, which only served to enrage Lily even further as she muscled her way past her infuriating counterpart.

"Evans," he sighed, climbing in after her, "honestly, would you just please _wait—_ "

She chose to respond by casually speeding up, reaching the left staircase with perhaps ever-so-slightly more expediency than usual and beginning to take the steps, ignoring him.

"Evans!" he barked, letting his books fall to the table with a loud thud. "Would you just ease up on the petulance for _five fucking minutes_ —"

" _Petulance_?" she echoed in disbelief, pausing mid-step.

She was instantly furious with herself for allowing him to goad her (despite her considerably more reasonable judgment) but by that point, she'd already opened the door to the inevitable argument. "You think _I'm_ being petulant, Potter?"

"I think the mature thing would be to have a conversation about your feelings, Evans," James replied stonily, his stupidly handsome face twisting into a sullen pout. As usual, his hair was almost entirely on end—more along the lines of electrocution than the casual post-coital look he was almost certainly aiming for—and Lily briefly considered whether conjuring a pail of water to dump unceremoniously atop his overprivileged head would be worth the subsequent mess of leaking Sleekeazy's. "Obviously you have everyone _else_ fooled into thinking you're some perfect ball of sunshine," he continued, eyes glinting with mockery, " _but_ —"

"Don't," she snapped, dropping her bag on the steps and stalking towards him. "Don't act like you _know_ me, Potter—and don't even think about insinuating that _you_ are in any way the more mature one in this scenario—"

"Last I checked, I'm not the one who walked out when we were supposed to be discussing the rotation!" he protested hotly, crossing his arms and staring down at her where they stood at the foot of the stairs. "Pretty sure that was _you_ —"

He smelled like grass and fresh air, and she wanted to strangle him.

"You expect me to be able to have a conversation with you after the stunt you pulled in front of the Prefects?" she countered, enflamed all over again at the thought. "I already knew you were unqualified, but for heaven's sake _—_ "

"What ' _stunt_ ,' Evans? Do tell," James drawled. "Please— _enlighten_ me as to what I've done to upset Princess Lily now."

 _Princess Lily?_ She fought a derisive snort. From Lord Potter himself, that little hypocrisy was the height of laughable.

"Oh, I don't know," she mocked in return, feeling her cheeks heat. "Maybe it was that you and Remus sat whispering to each other the whole meeting while I was trying to get everyone's attention?" she prompted, furious at the added insult of his ignorance as to what an insufferable prat he'd been. "Or perhaps it was the snickering itself, which you seemed to enjoy at my expense?"

"What?" he asked vacantly, and she considered punching him right in the center of his loathsome face. "Wait—you thought I was laughing at you?"

"Was there something _else_ funny? Silly me," she mused, tapping her mouth facetiously. "Did I somehow miss the comedy revue that was going on behind me?"

"It wasn't _you_ , Evans," James insisted, backing against one of the armchairs and flashing her another very punchable expression as he sank into it. "It was Rosier."

"Rosier," Lily repeated blankly. " _Evan Rosier_ , who essentially did not move or speak, somehow sent you and Remus into an unavoidable state of incomprehensible tittering?"

"I don't fucking _titter_ , Evans," James shot back. "Honestly, there's no need to be so unspeakably _rude_ —"

He clearly had no idea just how close he was to getting hexed to the edge of oblivion.

 _So_ close.

"Potter," she began brusquely, wondering if it were even possible to somehow mold her anger into coherent statements, or at least a series of intelligible words. "Do you even—"

She cut herself off, pausing to take in the full magnitude of the clueless look on his face; the one that was so quintessentially Potter, with all of his imperious, aristocratic arrogance ebbing from his features even as he gaped at her, his expression so clearly devoid of comprehension.

She remembered with a regretful pang that this was _James Potter_ she was talking to, who had never once exhibited any sign of being able to grasp a sophisticated thought, and she promptly shoved aside what she was already loath to admit. Thinking better of it, she turned sharply, deciding to save herself the trouble and abandoning him where he sat, open-mouthed and staring after her with all the exasperating helplessness of a vacuous goldfish.

She was halfway up the stairs before he seemed to register that she was leaving.

"What?" he exclaimed, alarmed, but she ignored him. "Evans, _wait_ —"

"Nevermind," she muttered, and groaned inwardly as she heard him leap from his seat to race up the stairs after her.

"Do I _what_ , Evans—"

She whipped around to face him, slapping away the hand he'd outstretched to reach for her arm. "Do you even understand how hard it is for me?" she demanded, the words pouring out of her mouth before she knew what was happening. For a moment, she was weightily disappointed with herself for re-engaging with him, but by the time she registered the look on his face, it was hard not to take pleasure in the sudden change. It was the first indication—that she had ever seen, anyway—that for _once_ , stupid James Potter was thrown off his airs.

"As you may recall," she began slowly, struggling against her temper, "Evan Rosier and Darian Mulciber hexed my best friend—to _absolutely zero consequences."_

She glared expectantly at him, but he seemed no less confused.

"And?" James prodded.

" _And_ ," Lily supplied tersely, "now I'm supposed to oversee them, knowing full well that I don't have their respect." She felt her chest tighten at the words. "Don't you realize how hard that is, Potter?"

He seemed coarsely unaffected. "Who needs them?" he posed carelessly, shrugging. "They're just fucking Slytherins—"

She grimaced. It was just like him to completely miss the point.

"Yes, _sure,_ fine," Lily spat, giving him a sharp jab to the chest. "Boil it down to that, then. Nevermind that to them, _I'm_ just a 'fucking _mudblood_ '—"

"Look, they're a bunch of backwards, inbred bigots," James countered, brow furrowed. "Who cares what they think?"

" _I_ care!" Lily shouted, advancing a step and forcing him back against the banister of the stairs. "I'm _Head Girl_ , Potter," she reminded him, pointedly stabbing a finger at her chest to gesture to her badge. "They're my responsibility, and how will they listen to me if my own counterpart won't even give me the time of day?"

She was gratified to see that he at least managed the decency to look flustered. "But I didn't—"

"If you disrespect me, Potter, you're inviting their disrespect!" she informed him venomously, giving him a punctuated shove for emphasis. "And their version of disrespect isn't some stupid joke behind my back, it's—it's _curses_ , and—"

She stopped, choking a little. She didn't have to go on. He knew what.

He knew _who_.

"Evans," James ventured quietly, his face quite pale. "Are you afraid of them?"

It was just like him to jump to such an oversimplified conclusion. Lily Evans was a lot of things, but she was certainly not _afraid._

"No," she retorted steadily, squaring her shoulders and sparing him the kind of fierceness that she had learned to cling to in her times of need. "But I just—" she paused again, struggling to swallow.

It wasn't fear. She refused to believe herself capable. But still—

She sighed, letting her reservations out on a breath.

"I just need them to listen to me," she confessed finally, letting her voice drop. "I need you to not be a monumental twat, James Potter, so that I might have _half a chance_ of them listening to me."

He was looking at her carefully, scrutinizing her sincerity, and she noticed for the first time how closely he was standing next to her; she registered the rise and fall of his breath like a subtle breeze against her hair, the sensation gifting her a sudden shudder, before immediately shoving the observation aside.

"Fine," he determined eventually, though by the stiffness in his tone, she sensed she would not be receiving an apology. "I hadn't realized you were going to take it so seriously."

She bristled. "Don't you dare patronize me," she warned, staring up at him in defiance. "You're doing me no favors, Potter, you're just doing _your job—_ "

"Ah yes, my _job_ —the one, in fact, that you don't seem to give me any credit for having earned," James muttered irritably. "Forgive me for not respecting _you_ , then—"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, my congratulatory fruit basket must still be in transit," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "Nevermind that I worked every day for this for six years while you _skated by_ for five—"

"People fucking _change_ , Evans," James cut in, glaring at her. "It's not unheard of!"

"So I'm supposed to believe that _you_ "—she paused, making sure he'd caught the derisive tone she'd so painstakingly applied in reference to him—"who are just as arrogant and obnoxious as ever but with slightly higher grades, have reached some kind of spiritual turning point?" she suggested moodily. "You're a good boy now, are you?" Silence. "No more trips in the middle of the night, I'm sure," she ventured facetiously, feeling her lips curl into a knowing smirk. " _Certainly_ no more hexing people for sport—"

"You're going to talk to _me_ about hexing people? What's next?" James posed grimly, scowling. "You're going to equate me with _Snivellus_ and the other Slytherins?"

Lily bristled at the use of Severus' unflattering nickname, but now was certainly not the time to fight that particular losing battle.

"Do you really think you're so different from them, Potter?" she accused instead. "You really think you and your little gang are so much better?"

His haughty glance was answer enough. "Obviously I do, seeing as _I'm_ not the one making you feel bad about your birth, am I—"

"Oh, and I'm supposed to thank you for that?" Lily erupted, her voice reaching a shout. "I'm supposed to, what—fall at your feet because I'm _privileged_ enough to have your almighty approval as a witch?"

Miraculously, he seemed to recognize his misstep. "No," he insisted hastily. "No, I—"

She cut him off with a sigh.

He'd never learn. He'd never _change._

"Let me tell you something, James Potter," Lily beckoned, stepping in close enough that he could hear the scratchy whisper from her lips. "Just because a magic hat told you that you're _brave,_ " she murmured sharply, "it doesn't make you the hero of this story."

He was either shocked or humbled; potentially both, though she didn't care which.

"You can wear your house like a shield all you like," she finished loftily, "but you're no better than they are until you prove it."

His resulting silence was blissful, and she was a smart enough girl to know when her point had been made. She turned on her heel, picking up her bag where she'd discarded it, and climbed the remainder of the stairs to her bedroom.

"Evans," James croaked after her, his voice weary from where she'd left him on the stairs. "You're wrong, you know. About me. You're wrong."

She glanced over her shoulder, leveling her gaze at him from above. "Prove it," she advised stiffly, and slipped into her room, letting the door slam shut behind her.

* * *

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, sitting in relative silence as one of the only lingering students to remain bent over his books in the library. He fought the slow drooping of his eyelids, though the effort felt largely fruitless. He hadn't been sleeping well.

 _Ah_ —correction.

He hadn't been sleeping _much_ , as his repeated trysts with Lily had been robbing him of the time he normally dedicated to his studies. Severus never fell behind, though, and he certainly wasn't about to start now; he would not permit the pounding in his head to be a factor, he scolded himself, despite the aching in his bones for sleep.

 _Healing potions_ , he reminded himself, nudging the sharpened point of his quill directly into his temple to force himself to focus. _Pay attention._

He sighed.

If he could just manage to float himself above his own exhaustion (mind over matter, as it were, though the phrase was uninstructive enough to render it entirely useless), this assignment would be elementary at most. Potions, after all, came easily to Severus. Being that he was a person with more subtlety than your average James Potter, Severus possessed the ability to identify the complexities of the ingredients; to find the essence of their magical qualities, and to draw out with ease the ways in which they called for use.

He frowned at the assignment, reading it for the third time. _In what instance would one use crushed fire seed for the purposes of_

He stopped for the third time, rubbing at his eyes as the words blurred together. The assignment seemed foolish right from the start. A healing potion, where a countercurse would have done just as well? As if at any point he might encounter a cursed limb that would politely stand aside for a thirty-six hour steeping period before proceeding to stop the victim's heart. An unusually considerate curse that would be, he thought, grimacing.

Though, if the curse _had_ no countercurse—

Severus began scribbling in the margins of his textbook, thinking. Countercurses were simple enough; few curses precluded them. The only plausible scenario would be a curse that infected the heart, and if that were the case, then perhaps the best possible solution would be to contain it within a limb—a limb, of course, which would subsequently require a potion of extraordinary magnitude; but such a curse would be extraordinary itself— _more_ than extraordinary… distinctly powerful, if one just altered the minutiae of the incantation—

 _It's evil, Sev._

Severus stopped abruptly, letting his quill fall against the book.

 _It's not,_ he told his internal Lily, seeing her brow arch with skepticism.

 _Of course it is,_ she told him; in his mental conjuring of her, her lips were parted, her expression hurt. _A curse without a countercurse, that affects the heart? Surely you feel it, Sev. Surely you know it doesn't feel like magic you're meant to use._

He picked up his quill, tapping it absentmindedly against the page. _But—_

 _It would be just like your other spells, Sev. People will get hurt._

 _That's not my fault,_ he reminded her. _I can't control how people use them—_

 _Don't do this again,_ she sighed, and he exhaled in resignation, lowering his head wearily to set it against the desk.

"Severus."

He looked up, grunting at the new arrivals who'd made their way to his isolated corner.

"Mulciber," he acknowledged. "Avery."

"So _formal_ ," Caleb Avery remarked, taking a seat and propping his long legs up against the edge of the table. "Did you hear that, Darian?"

"Hard to miss, isn't it?" Darian Mulciber agreed, idly taking the remaining seat. "If I didn't know any better, I'd guess Sev here was _distancing_ himself."

Caleb tapped his nose, winking. "Right you are," he said merrily, turning back to Severus, who sighed.

"Why are you here?" Severus muttered, too exhausted to conjure much of a tone. "I hadn't thought this was your"—he paused, attempting to be diplomatic—" _scene_."

"Which scene?" Caleb asked facetiously, frowning. "Academia?" He turned to Mulciber. "Are you not a Prefect anymore?"

"Oh, hold on," Darian said, lifting a finger to call for a pause and feeling blindly for his badge. "Ah yes," he said obnoxiously, tapping it once. "Look at that, still am."

"You know perfectly well what I mean," Severus growled, waving his hand to gesture around the venue. "This. The library. Here, specifically. Me."

"Ah, yes, much clearer," Caleb replied, smirking. "Well, obviously we came looking for you, Sev," he remarked, and then added slyly, "Lucius dropped by today, you know."

"Oh?" Severus said, lowering his eyes to his textbook and attempting for the hundredth time to absorb the words on the page. _In what instance would one use crushed fire seed_

"Just got his first board seat in the Ministry last month," Darian interrupted, derailing Severus' already perilous train of thought. "He's being vetted for the school board now."

"Delightful," Severus grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "I'll be sure to send flowers—"

"Makes you wonder what'll be out there for _you_ , Sev," Darian cut in slowly, unfazed. "Doesn't it, Caleb?"

"So true," Caleb agreed, and Severus' stomach lurched at the vaguely robotic, theatrically rehearsed feel of their approach. "Not a Prefect, after all—"

"—and with no family of consequence," Darian supplied neutrally. "A difficult position to launch from, I would say," he ventured, his laughing eyes straying knowingly to Severus.

"Marvelous. I'll be sure to lose sleep over it later," Severus replied tightly, feeling his lips contort into a grimace.

"Not a lot of options for a half-blood Slytherin," Caleb remarked, blithely reaching over to place a hand on Severus' shoulder. He flinched, but knew better than to pull away.

"Basically red-lined the moment you leave here, don't you think?" Darian continued, turning to Caleb. "No recommendation from Dumbledore, surely—"

"Yes, well, as ever, your concern is deeply touching," Severus interrupted, dislodging Caleb's grip as he moved to flip the page in front of him. "True friendship does exist, then."

"If only talent was enough," Darian lamented, yanking the book off the table and pointing to one of Severus' spells in the margin. "If only there was someone who had a _use_ for such things—don't you think?"

Severus fought against every muscle in his face as he struggled to contain his expression.

"Ah, but there _is_ ," Caleb proposed gaily, sparing Severus another wink. "I daresay there is _one_ person who has a use for him." His blue eyes swept coolly over Severus' face, measuring him, before returning pointedly to Darian's. "Wouldn't you say, Darian?"

" _Enough_ ," Severus erupted, the force of the word slicing abruptly through the space between them. Caleb, startled, let his feet fall from the table to the ground, propelled forward in his surprise.

"Enough," Severus said again, softer this time, beginning to pack up his books.

This conversation was not an option.

"I know where you're going with this," Severus remarked tightly, as his reprehensible companions smirked their furtive agreement. "I know what this _is_ —"

"It's not meant to trick you, Sev. We know you're not thick," Darian drawled, as if that, a lazy acknowledgement of Severus' not-underwhelming intellect, would somehow help his cause. "Not sure if you recall, actually, but by my calculations, we used to be friends _._ "

"I don't have time for this," Severus informed him, his voice low and clipped. "If you've got something to say, then just come out and _say it_ ," he beckoned, grimacing.

Caleb and Darian exchanged glances.

"Fine," Caleb agreed after a beat. "Fine. You want direct?" At Severus' single nod, he shrugged. "Lucius told us that"—he paused, leaning in—" _he_ wants you."

"Why?" Severus demanded, reclining in his seat to make room for his suspicions. "Why would he?"

"I think the better question," Darian prompted slowly, "is why _you_ would be opposed. You do understand that he means to change things, don't you?"

"New society," Caleb clarified. "No more hiding."

"And at whose expense?" Severus prompted, crossing his arms over his chest.

The question was not well met.

"Not hugging muggles now, are you, Sev?" Darian sniffed in response. "Last I checked, you still hated your dad and everyone like him."

"That's—" Severus stopped, hesitating. _That's true._ "That's not the point," he determined after a pause, though even the heightened volume at which he said it could not hide his lack of certainty.

"So what _is_ the point, then?" Caleb asked, leaning forward. "Think about it, Severus. If _he_ makes it to office, then everything changes for us. No more being held back by secrecy laws," Caleb murmured, leaning forward as if to emphasize the point, "no more restrictions on the _types_ of magic we can use—"

"Office? Seriously?" Severus scoffed. "Surely you're not fool enough to think he's going to ascend by traditional political means."

"Why else angle Lucius towards Hogwarts and the Ministry?" Darian suggested pointedly, though Severus found the point to be considerably lacking.

"Don't bother pretending Lucius Malfoy doesn't have his own agenda," Severus replied tartly. "He's a man who likes his privilege, not to mention that he's a Malfoy poised to marry a Black. Lucius doesn't need _his_ help to gain a seat in politics."

Immediately, he regretted the tendrils of bitterness that had crept into his tone. By the looks of triumph on Caleb and Darian's faces, Severus could see he had revealed too much.

"Resentment isn't a particularly flattering look for you, Severus," Caleb advised, his expression a predatory glimmer in the dim lighting of the library. "It doesn't have to be this way for you, you know."

Severus rose to his feet, frustrated by his own weakness.

"Yes it does," he muttered, throwing his books into his bag before turning to leave without another word, the image of Lily's disapproval still burned into the backs of his tired eyelids.

* * *

"Well," Sirius remarked, clasping a hand around the jut of James' shoulder. "You've certainly looked better."

"You haven't," James muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and ignoring the gentle snort from Remus at his exceptionally weak retort. "And also, shut it."

"Ah," Remus remarked. "You've certainly just been told, Padfoot."

James thrust his forehead against the table. "You," he declared, wearily raising his arm to gesture to Remus. "You _also_ can shut it."

"He's really nailing this," Sirius remarked, taking an obnoxiously loud sip from his coffee. "I'm genuinely quite shattered."

"You should see someone about that," Remus advised. "A counselor? A therapist?"

"Some sort of shaman, I would think," Sirius mused, as James aimed a kick at his shins.

"Why didn't you tell me you all would be here?" Peter interrupted, bustling in behind them. He slid himself between James and Remus on the bench, prompting James to briefly look up as Remus arched a brow.

"Why didn't we tell you we would be… eating breakfast, Wormy?" Remus prompted wryly. "And at breakfast time, too," he murmured. "I see your confusion."

"THAT'S IT," Sirius pronounced dramatically, waving a hand that conveniently smacked into James' glasses, "the owl carrying my formal invitation is hereby sacked for unremarkable performance—not unlike Prongs," he mused, as James sighed with disinterest, returning his forehead to the table.

"What's up with him?" Peter asked, gesturing, and James could hear the snickers.

"Evans yelled at him," Sirius supplied, and despite James being fully aware he was being taunted, he launched his head up again, glaring.

"For your information," James protested loudly, "this has nothing to do with her. It is only related to her in that I _hate_ her," he clarified stiffly, "and subsequently overslept as a result of said hate."

"That sounds right," Remus pronounced gravely.

"She has such fucking ridiculous standards for everyone," James continued, abruptly riled up with identical versions of the thoughts that had kept him awake the night before. " _Everyone_ —only not herself, of course, because she's fucking _perfect Lily Evans_."

With that, his artful conclusion, James sighed again, lowering his head back to the table.

"Right. So, if I could just sum up his overarching thesis," Sirius supplied without prompting, "none of _this_ "—he reached over, gesturing to James' general aura of defeat—"has anything to do with a certain Head Girl."

"Correct," James confirmed, his voice muffled against the wood.

"Sure," Peter sniffed dismissively, an uncanny representation of one of Sirius' signature mannerisms. "Anyway." He shifted to look at Remus. "When's the next run?"

James turned his head at that, resting his cheek against the table. "Soon," he guessed, eyeing the subtle discoloration around Remus' eyes. "Moony's looking particularly Moony."

Remus spared him a smirk. "Sure you're going to be able to get past Lily's watchful eye this time, Prongs?"

"Fuck." James made a face, realizing with a jolt how enormously unlikely that was. "I'm supposed to be 'proving my worth' or some other bollocks like that," he remembered, groaning. "I suppose I'll just have to not anger her too much before then."

Peter choked on a skeptical laugh, and James lifted his head, glaring at him.

"Perhaps another plan," Remus suggested kindly, reaching around Peter to pat James' shoulder. Sirius, meanwhile, let out a particularly barking scoff.

"I'm still not sure why you even agreed to be Head Boy, Prongs," Sirius remarked, taking another obtrusive sip from his mug. "You knew perfectly well you'd have to cut back on the hijinks."

"No, I cut back the _shenanigans_ ," James reminded him, "which, again, we've all outgrown. But am I really expected to abandon my single hijink per month?"

"I doubt Lils indulges in any hijinks," Sirius pointed out. "So yeah, I think that was probably the expectation."

"I don't know about that," James scoffed, thinking back to when he'd caught her sneaking in through the portrait with her hair thoroughly mussed. "She comes in late a lot."

"Keeping an eye on her, are you?" Peter prompted wryly, and James sighed.

"There's nothing I can say here, is there?" he asked, flashing them all a look of sulky dissatisfaction. "It's just ' _pile on James_ ' time then, is it?"

"Yes," they confirmed in unison, and James peevishly crossed his arms.


	4. The Observations

**Chapter 4: The Observations**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: one foreign diplomat. Suspects: none. Framings: suspected. Political climate: don't say his name, don't say his name, don't say his name._

* * *

Darian Mulciber sat in the back of the Potions classroom, arms crossed as he leaned against his chair.

They were fucking _shameless,_ he thought, watching Sirius Black eyefuck Remus Lupin from across the room.

Fucking Sirius Black. _Fuck him in general_ , Darian thought vigorously, scowling in agitation. If Sirius took one look around the room in any given direction he'd find at least one witch openly staring at him, and yet he chose to occupy his time with _Remus Lupin_ , who was essentially a jagged wastebasket of a human being, quiet and haggard and grim. Bad enough Sirius had turned on his family; worse still _this_ is what he'd chosen. And the two of them could call it a secret all they pleased, but the Prefect dorms were not ideal for hiding—and they, entitled arseholes that they were, had barely bothered to hide.

Darian felt sickened at the thought; he looked away, letting his gaze travel slowly around the room.

Beside Sirius, James Potter was furiously scribbling notes, his eyes occasionally flicking to where Lily Evans sat, her legs crossed daintily as she eyed Professor Slughorn in her captivated, swotty way. It was as though Potions were just _so_ fascinating that she could not _possibly_ look elsewhere—lest she fail to capture even a _single breath_ of knowledge.

Darian rolled his eyes. _Keep trying, Evans_ , he thought, pushing away his detest of the pretty redheaded witch. Yes, fine, she was pretty, in an entirely uninteresting way, and with the kind of obnoxious air about her as though she _knew_ it, and was unabashedly poised to use it—just another trick up her sleeve to distract people from how much she obviously didn't belong. As if Darian couldn't see that her entire facade was an act. No person was as kind and virtuous as Lily Evans pretended to be—but still, he grudgingly acknowledged her motivations. After all, one slip up, and she would be exposed for what she was.

Her gaze slid momentarily to his—an accident, surely, or else purely by coincidence—and he quickly looked away, focusing on the sparsely filled parchment before him. Darian had always been good at his classes (academic success being one of many qualities expected of his stature, as his father consistently reminded him) but, unsurprisingly, it had felt less necessary this year. Everything felt just a _touch_ less important, he thought with a grimace, fighting the urge to cuff his left sleeve and take another scrutinizing look at his Mark.

Best not to draw attention to it now, of course. He let his gaze slide up slowly, hoping she hadn't been looking for long.

She hadn't, which wasn't a surprise. Noting that Lily had once again focused her attention on Slughorn's incessant babbling, Darian continued his aimless round of scrutiny about the room.

Severus, of course, was sitting in a remote corner, as was his modus operandi of late. He had never been particularly social and he'd only gotten worse as time had gone on, withdrawing into himself so as to become even more incomprehensibly gloomy. He had distanced himself as much as he physically could from the remainder of the class (while still being present in the classroom, that is) and Darian, still rather curious about what had prompted the shift in behavior, followed Severus' line of sight to find his dark eyes pensively resting on—

 _For the actual sake of fuck_ , Darian swore internally, following Severus' gaze to Lily. Foolish. _Beyond_ foolish, he thought, scowling. Of _course_ it was Lily Evans. Whatever strange, mismatched attraction existed between those two had, at one time, been about as well-kept a secret as Sirius and Remus, only Lily had made a much bigger fuss about ending it. The act of distancing seemed a pointless exercise, then.

Unless, of course, it wasn't, Darian realized—which would _not_ be good for Severus.

He'd be better off forgetting about her, of course. Maybe in the end Darian would be doing him a favor. For one thing, without Lily's restrictive influence, Severus had the capacity to actually _make_ something of himself; to put his not-inconsiderable talents to use. And honestly, Darian thought with a scowl, how fortunate for Severus that his particular expertise had found a natural audience. Had Severus been born at any other time, the world might have only mocked him for his twisted conceptions of magic.

As it was, Severus' untapped creativity and undeniable proclivity for the kind of magic that served the Dark Lord's particular breed of interest positioned himself to accomplish more than either Darian or Caleb would. For all their value as Mulcibers and Averys—sons of the original Knights of Walpurgis and the clever, steadfast second generation whose fathers had served well and devotedly— _Severus_ was the one poised for a singular kind of greatness; something distinct from what awaited the rest of them, or so Lucius had explained. It had at first seemed ironic, perhaps paradoxical, considering—but Darian had come to accept that the Dark Lord was meritocratic that way: rewarding of talent first, and loyalty only as an afterthought.

 _You'll probably never see him_ , Darian's father had warned. _You'll receive your instructions from me. He's a busy man. You'll have your orders._

Not the case for Lucius, of course; the golden boy, with his poise, his confidence, his means by which to manipulate even the most formal of wizarding politics. His value was obvious. Same with Severus; whether the fortunate half-blood Prince was aware of it or not, the Dark Lord knew what he was capable of. Needed him, in fact, for his inventive mind—though, not _needed_ , Darian corrected himself quickly. The Dark Lord had no _needs_. He hadn't even _needed_ Darian; he'd only wished for a representative for a project he'd hoped to begin at Hogwarts, and Darian's father had not thought twice before volunteering him.

Darian himself had experienced only a moment of doubt, a slight flicker— _couldn't it wait until after school?_ —but then he'd seen the light in Caleb's eyes when he'd shared the news, the glimmer of pride that appeared on the other boy's face. _He wants you,_ Caleb had said, and Darian could hardly speak through the tightening in his chest.

It wasn't what Darian had wanted to hear from Caleb, exactly, but it was close enough.

 _I want you._

Caleb, too, was sitting across the classroom, the sandy tips of his hair falling into his eyes as he bent over his notes, and Darian hoped rather fervently that he wouldn't look up. He could still maintain some semblance of control over himself, just watching the little things; the tiny particulars that made up Caleb Avery. The precise tint of his hair, the shape of his mouth. The slight drag of his tongue across the swell of his lip as he paused to think, his quill scratching against the parchment in his neat, deliberate handwriting. It became more difficult, once Caleb's blue eyes settled on his, to forget the feel of Caleb's hair under his fingers, the sharp angle of his jaw and how it had knocked against Darian's, collateral damage in the frenzied handful of trysts they were never to speak of.

His lips—

 _Not allowed_ , Darian thought, swallowing. _Not allowed._

He looked away, feeling the familiar rush of self-loathing that always accompanied the swell of yearning, the agonizing pulsing in his abdomen that was so devastatingly magnetic, so grotesquely appealing. It wasn't men, he told himself. He wasn't attracted to men. He wasn't—

He _wasn't_. It was just—

He let his eyes fall on the crown of Caleb's head one more time, lingering on the line of his neck and the sharp angle of his shoulders. He remembered the smell of Caleb, smoky with an underlying sharpness, almost like fruit on the edge of being ripe; as right as it was wrong.

 _He wants you_ , Caleb had said.

The price was certainly steep. Certain things would not be tolerated, and this was one of them. Darian himself was one of them, if he continued to give in the way he had with Caleb. Oh, only here and there, of course, and always accompanied by some meager excuse—firewhiskey, more than once, though more often that was closer to a symptom than the cause—but never enough that he could truly feel innocent of the longing vacancy at his fingertips, the lingering marks on his skin.

Then there was Lily Evans, of course. Not Lily _alone_ , not Lily as some kind of triumphant end game, but Lily nonetheless. And Severus by extension. Or perhaps the other way around? Darian hadn't yet determined the more costly expenditure. Not that it was worth thinking about. The Mark on his wrist meant that it was out of his hands, in the end.

Darian managed to tear his eyes away from Caleb a second time, telling himself it would be the last. It wouldn't be, of course, but why lie to everyone else if he could not also spare some deception for himself, for the purposes of easing his own burden?

He felt a twitch in his neck, a subconscious tap on his shoulder that told him he was being watched, and Darian looked over into a jarring set of watery blue eyes, narrowing as they observed him.

A sickening smile spread slowly over Peter Pettigrew's mousy face and Darian shifted uncomfortably, wondering what the diminutive, unremarkable Gryffindor had seen. He was an exceptionally forgettable character, Peter—as non-threatening as they came. A slower, stiffer copy of his loftier friends, more eager and less impressive.

 _Or_ , Darian thought, feeling his brow furrow at the unsettling way Peter had followed his own line of sight, falling to rest on Caleb's bent head. _Perhaps not._

He shook his head quickly, trying to rid himself of his misgivings. Darian was no idiotic Sirius Black, mooning over his abhorrent, ill-advised romance from afar. Peter had nothing to suspect, and certainly no evidence with which to cause damage.

No, Darian reminded himself. It was _he_ who would cause damage.

 _He chose you_ , Caleb had said.

Darian let his eyes follow the path between Severus and Lily once more.

Damage, indeed.

* * *

Lily rolled onto her side, propping her head up on the flat of her palm as she looked at the man lying next to her.

"It's quiet here," she remarked. "Like our place back home."

Severus was looking at her studiously; as though she were a book he had opened to his favorite page, and he wished to memorize her contents.

"Yes," he agreed.

He didn't say more. He kept most of his thoughts to himself, always had; a conversation with Severus meant a few moments per sentence of Lily desperately trying to identify what he was saying between the words. He had some mystifying alertness in his eyes that always told her he was thinking about something; it thrilled her, a little bit. He was different from the other people she spent time around. Considerably more introspective, for one thing. Always thoughtful. He rarely spoke before thinking (though when he did, it was usually to disastrous consequences—she tried not to think about that), and he never went so far as to say too much.

Unlike Lily. _Decidedly_ unlike Lily, who always seemed to babble in his presence to fill the gaps, to fidget in the silence that she couldn't quite figure out.

Severus was tall, slender, and a shadowed kind of handsome, in his way; a slow observation of his features was always more rewarding over time, like gradually adjusting to the light in a darkened room. He had this spectacular, unshakable cynicism about him, too, that left her breathless in his presence. He wasn't like Sirius, whose particular breed of broodiness felt loud and purposeful, forcefully demanding of attention. Severus' despondence was like a whisper in the night, like something forbidden and out of reach. Like his fingers on her neck.

It had taken her longer than she cared to admit to herself that the something he was thinking about was usually her.

"Lily," he said, and her name was so delicate on his lips that she nearly whimpered at the sound. It was such a strident contrast to James Potter's childish huffing. _Evans!_

"Yes?" Lily asked, pushing James' intolerably smug expression out of her mind and reaching over to lay her hand on Severus' chest, the pads of her fingers pressing themselves lightly into the crevice of his sternum.

He captured her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and brushing them against her knuckles.

"Do you need to talk?"

She bit back a smile. "What makes you say that?"

"You're quiet." He reached his hand out from where he'd been propping up his head and began to play with her fingers, looking at them with the kind of reverence that made her breath catch. "Usually I'd know all about what you ate for breakfast by now," he added, turning his head to give her a rare, captivating smile.

"Oh?" she asked, rolling onto him. "Are you interested?"

He rested one arm against the small of her back, reaching up with his free hand to brush her hair out of her face. "You had coffee this morning," he informed her quietly. "You didn't eat."

 _Ah._

She made a face. "Creepy, Sev," she joked, burying her face in his chest.

Of course he had noticed.

"You're upset about something," he commented. "You're quiet. You're not hungry."

Lily hesitated; she wasn't quite sure she wanted to share (yet, anyway) the details surrounding her untimely lack of appetite.

"I'm just—"

"I know you," he reminded her, tugging his fingers in her hair to angle her face towards his. "I know when you're not taking care of yourself."

She sighed. "I'm not _not_ taking care of myself," she argued weakly, though it seemed a relatively pointless endeavor to try to lie. He'd surely drag it out of her sooner or later, and it wouldn't be any less silly when she said it, either then or now. "I'm just finding this year"—she paused, fidgeting as she sorted through her thoughts—"more difficult than I expected."

"Potter giving you problems?" Severus guessed, grimacing in distaste.

"No," Lily assured him hastily. Not entirely the truth, but she didn't particularly want to discuss James. Certainly not with Severus. "I'm just a little concerned about… other things."

Severus arched a brow, doubtful. "Lily."

It was never worth trying to keep things from him; he always seemed to know, in the end.

Though, what exactly _had_ happened?

Nothing. And that, as it turned out, was the problem. She was thinking of the _Daily Prophet_ headlines she'd seen that morning, the typeface blurring together into one proclamation of _MISSING_ or _TORTURED_ or _DEAD!—_ and how strange it was, how isolated she felt here in the castle. How could such things happen, and yet she herself remained untouched? Unharmed?

She must have shuddered; it was hard not to.

"Do you think Mulciber has been a little too quiet?" she asked, pivoting slightly.

Everything going on outside the castle and yet Darian Mulciber and Caleb Avery, normally so quick to taunt her, had been almost eerily detached.

Severus' mouth pursed slightly. " _Too_ quiet?" he repeated. "Seems unlikely. Shouldn't his silence be a relief?"

"I don't think so," she replied slowly, thinking of the faraway look that seemed to have made a home on Darian's face during their most recent rounds, or the distantly remorseful way he'd looked at her in class.

"I mean, this is Mulciber we're talking about," she ventured, treading carefully. She knew he and Severus had once been close (or at least, as close as Severus could be to a person that wasn't her) and wasn't interested in forcing open old wounds. "He's certainly calmed down since being made Prefect, but still—even when he's not doing anything _wrong_ , necessarily, he's usually sort of—"

"—running his mouth?" Severus supplied, grimacing.

"Something like that," Lily agreed, nodding vacantly in thought. A strange shift that seemed to have taken place since coming back to school; after two years as Prefects with Darian she had gotten used to the expectation that if they were to interact, he might have normally glared her, chin high with disdain—or, more irritatingly, muttered 'mudblood' under his breath and shouldered past her in his harsh, irksomely predatory way—but instead, there was something uncomfortably telling in his gaze, or perhaps more so in the way he _averted_ it. That had certainly been the case in Potions, when she'd accidentally caught his eye in class.

There was something unidentifiably _off_ about the way he couldn't seem to hold eye contact with her. It was the motion of someone who knew too much, who saw something out of place—and whatever it was, it had struck her as incongruous in some form. For Lily (who was both intelligent and intuitive enough to sense even a minute change in rhythm, or an intangible shift in pattern) it had been a 'nothing' that was difficult to shake.

"It almost seems like he's taking extra care not to get into trouble," she determined eventually, recognizing her own uneasiness with a sudden jolt. She squinted a little, searching Severus' face for a reaction. "Do you think he might be up to something?"

There was a flicker of recognition that appeared and extinguished so quickly in Severus' dark eyes that Lily wondered for a moment if she'd imagined it.

"I think," Severus replied slowly, as measured and deliberate as ever, "that you shouldn't suspect fire just because you smell smoke."

"Has he said anything to you?" she asked, waiting to see if the flicker would reappear.

"No," he replied.

There was some hesitation there; she wondered if she should push it.

"It's just hard not to wonder," she murmured, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "With everything going on—"

"Don't worry about that," Severus cut in smoothly, punctuating the statement with a reflexive tightening of his arms around her. "It's okay—"

"Oh, don't _patronize_ me, Sev," Lily muttered, pulling away to backhand his chest. She barely noticed that she'd been successfully distracted away from her original point. "I hardly need to be told _it's okay_ like I'm some sort of child with imaginary monsters—"

"Don't you, though?" he countered, taking her face between his hands and giving her a quieting glance. "I won't ever let anything bad happen to you, monstrous or otherwise. And in any case, it's not such a terrible thing to need, is it, Lily?"

"Watch it," she warned, making a face. "I don't _need_ anything—"

"I know," he told her, and she took in the familiar features of his face; the eyes that other people found so foreboding that she felt she'd made a home in. The thoughtful curve of his lips, his too-long dark hair—that she'd finally convinced him to start pulling back, away from his face so that she could see it clearly.

See _him_ , she amended, _clearly_.

He did know, she realized, feeling the warmth that accompanied his presence; the feeling of being with someone who knew her to her core. If only she understood him even _half_ as well as he understood her.

"Kiss me," she suggested, wriggling a little in his grasp to take ahold of his face, feeling the sharpness of his cheekbones under her fingers.

He smirked a little. "Is that what you need? Because I've recently been advised you don't actually need anything."

She rolled her eyes. "It's what I want, then," she declared, and like the indulgent caretaker he was, Severs pulled her close without hesitation.

* * *

James barged into Remus' room, throwing the door open and launching himself between the two boys on the bed.

"Where's the map?" he trumpeted, reaching behind him to awkwardly pat both disgruntled faces. Sirius was shirtless and Remus appeared a little dazed, but James had made a point to listen at the door; they'd only been talking.

"Forgotten our many discussions about privacy, have you, Prongs?" Remus asked, though he settled in comfortably, shifting onto his side and propping his head up on his elbow.

"Why?" James drawled in challenge, turning his head to squint at Remus. "Is there something you two would like to tell me?"

He watched them exchange glances.

"No," Remus said coolly, though Sirius offered a quiet " _prick_ " under his breath.

"Thought so," James muttered smugly, sitting up and tossing his arms over their shoulders. "So," he declared, returning to his reason for visiting. "The map. Give it."

"I don't have it," Remus said, leaning over James to look at Sirius. "You, Padfoot?"

"Nope," Sirius replied, though he was reasonably distracted, having looked down to scrutinize the muscles of his own chest. James shifted around to backhand his abs, smirking as the other boy emitted a loud, choking cough.

"Forgot to flex," James noted with a grin, then slumped down again between them. "Where's Wormtail, then?"

"Oddly enough, you must have forgotten to invite him to your surprise party," Remus remarked, in what James regularly referred to as his infuriating Professor Lupin voice.

James made a face. "Padfoot," he said, yawning as he gestured lazily to the door. "Go get him."

Sirius, for reasons frankly indeterminable to James, did not seem amenable to the suggestion. "I would like to formally invite you to either fuck yourself," Sirius suggested grandly, "or, alternatively, get up and find him yourself."

"Oh, is it my choice?" James asked drily, and Remus reached over, nudging Sirius before he could reply.

"What's your issue, anyw- Padfoot, stop. Use your words. Stop it, I'm— _don't_. Prongs, what- I said _stop_ —look, what do you need the map for?"

Ah, the inevitable question that James had hoped so fervently to avoid.

"Well," James began, attempting to appear innocently nonchalant as Remus continued to grumpily wrestle Sirius' obtrusive hands away from him, "Evans is out again—"

"Ahhhh," Sirius proclaimed, pausing his erstwhile endeavors to turn and wink at Remus. "Tell me, Moony—you _do_ recall hearing a thing or two about Lily Evans, right?"

"Remind me," Remus mused thoughtfully. "Is that the girl James has completely forgotten about?"

"Yes, yes," Sirius remarked, his face a perfectly grave expression of his mother's haughty countenance. "The one he doesn't give a single fuck about—"

"I am permitted to give _one_ fuck," James argued, shoving them both. "One!"

"And which fuck are we permitting, pray tell?" Sirius prompted, sweeping his arm out for an answer. "The fuck you give in regard to what she is doing at any given time, I take it?"

"No!" James insisted defensively, shifting over so that he was more on Remus' side than Sirius' and picking a favorite for the time being. "The fuck I give in regard to her being _Head Girl,_ " he clarified emphatically _,_ "and out longer than reasonably expected for someone of her position—"

"You do realize, firstly, that you are _also_ out of your room," Remus pointed out, "and secondly, that Lily could very easily have gotten back to your dorm while you were out maniacally hunting her?"

"I am not _hunting_ her," James corrected him irritably. "I am merely concerned by her repeated"—he paused, searching for a word—" _indiscretions!_ Obviously."

"Ah yes, of course, Moony," Sirius cooed, patting James' shoulder and turning facetiously to their companion. "Prongs here is merely worried that Evans is not fully dedicated to her duties to the school—"

"Yes!" James interjected. "Yes, that, _and_ I—"

"—and he plans to remedy the issue by mercilessly stalking her on the illegal map he invented for purposes of mischief!" Sirius summarized with trumpeting certainty, offering Remus a wolfish grin upon conclusion. "His intentions could not _be_ more pure."

"Nor his logic more sound," Remus agreed, raising an imaginary glass. James sighed in exasperation as Sirius echoed the motion and reached over him, toasting his stupidity with Remus.

"Once again," James proclaimed loudly, "you both do me a complete and utter disservice—"

The door swung open a second time, revealing Peter in its frame.

"Wormtail!" they exclaimed in unison, and though Peter's face had initially appeared faintly vexed, his expression of frustration quickly dissipated at their enthusiasm.

"Hey," he grunted, stepping into the room and shoving James' legs aside so as to perch at the edge of the bed. "Could've told me you lot were in here."

"To be clear, if I had known James was coming, I'd have left," Sirius replied, and James backhanded him a second time.

"Stop with the pillow talk," James insisted, scrambling forward to reach Peter. "How'd you know we were here? Map?"

"Map," Peter confirmed, and James eagerly reached for it.

"Give it," he insisted, and Peter offered him a perfect look of Remus-esque skepticism. "Please," James added unhappily, groaning, and Peter complied, tossing it to him with an audible sigh of impatience.

"Well," Sirius said, leaning forward to look over James' shoulder. "Where is she, Prongs?"

"Wait," Remus cut in, slicing his hand out for silence. "I want to guess."

"Me too," Sirius agreed, pursing his lips in thought. "Are she and Mary getting pissed and re-potting mandrakes?"

"Good one," Remus determined, nodding. " _Or_ —is she potentially chasing unicorns in the Forbidden Forest?"

Peter frowned, clearing his throat loudly. "Is this about—"

"Yes," Remus and Sirius replied, their voices equally mechanical and bored.

James, who had been ignoring them to look for Lily's name on the map, sighed in disappointment. "She's on her way back to the dorm," he announced moodily.

"Ah, tough luck, Prongs," Sirius said, thumping him on the back. "Maybe you can frame her for murder tomorrow."

"Ugh," James sniffed, struggling through the mess of limbs to climb out of Remus' bed. "I guess I'll have to head back, then—"

"Wait," Peter blurted suddenly, snatching the map from James' hand and scouring it. "Did you see Mulciber on there?"

"Mulciber?" Sirius echoed, nearly spitting with disgust at the name. "You think Evans was with _Mulciber_?"

"No, no," Peter assured him hastily, still scanning the map. "Just thought he was acting a bit off lately, is all."

"That's actually true," Remus noted, sitting up straight. "I had to do rounds with him the other night and he didn't say a word."

" _Good_ ," Sirius pronounced, leaning into the word with palpable resentment. "That pureblood menace could do with keeping his fucking mouth _shut_ for once—"

"Sirius Black calling someone else a menace," James mused, facetiously tapping his mouth. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Snape's on here," Peter commented, grinning darkly at James just before Sirius aimed a lazy blow somewhere near his intestines. "An odd time for him to head to the library, don't you think? Unless he was busy up until—oh, a now-ish time."

"Oh, so now you think Evans was with _Snape_?" James asked, scoffing loudly. "Please."

The other three exchanged glances.

"What—seriously?" James erupted, and then, his voice emerging as a disbelieving squeak, " _Seriously?_ "

Dishearteningly: silence.

"You're wrong," James determined brusquely, crossing his arms. "She's—she hasn't spoken to him in _months_ , and he's—" he faltered. "He's—" He sighed. "Not that I care either way," he determined faintly, feeling yet another wave of exasperation at the thought of Lily Evans' tirelessly conceited face.

At that, Remus rose to his feet, shaking his head with a sigh. "Maybe you should just go to bed, Prongs," he suggested, patting him on the shoulder and doing an atrociously poor job of concealing a conspiratorial glance at Sirius.

That, among other things, was vastly unhelpful. " _You_ go to bed," James retorted smartly, before falling back with a groan.


	5. The Freedom

**Chapter 5: The Freedom**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: two activists, both muggleborn. Natural disasters: possibly not natural. Facts: questioned. Suspicions: rampant. Political climate: who to trust? No one at all—least of all the whispers._

* * *

 _This way._

 _The thud of his hooves on the uneven ground pulse like the racing cadence of his heart._

 _This way._

 _He throws his head back, slicing through the thickness. At home._

 _At last._

 _Two forms before him, the wolf and the dog, a pack of their own, the sounds in the night._

 _Paws and hoofbeats, rhythmic, unsteady, the gentle flurry of the autumn breeze like a kiss against their backs: freedom. Freedom. Free._

 _Faster. Faster._

 _This way._

 _There is a distinction between human emotions and this. There is a difference between things he might say and feel and experience as a man—joy, lightheartedness, contentment—and the sound of the ground under his feet, the rush of the blood in his veins, for which there are no words. He tosses his head to the side, leaning into the swipe of the wind, being led by the song of the night._

 _Faster._

 _The other two pick up speed, colliding and rolling over each other and then taking off again._

 _This way._

 _The sophistication of language is vastly overrated. This is clear enough._

 _You, me, us. This way._

 _A bolt of speed, because. Because, because. So free it's painful, so limitless it's crushing. The muscles in his legs, the lightness in his step, the flurry of his racing pulse. Light and color in flashes and fades. Their bodies without distinction. The earth without distinction._

 _Running to, running away, moon and earth and stars. Sky above them, earth below them, peace and comfort and fire and torment within._

 _No leader, no follower, no decisions. This way, yes—but then this way, and faster. Faster._

 _Faster!_

 _The dog and the wolf tumble together; the wolf sinks his teeth into the scruff of the dog's neck. No predator, no prey. The dog bites back._

 _And then they're running again._

 _Euphoric. Beatific. Elated._

 _No—too innocent for the thrill of his hooves against the earth. This is the capitulation of being, not sainthood. Too human._

 _Intoxicated, frenetic, raptured._

 _Better._

 _Not that words could do it justice. Too human._

 _This way. Faster._

 _He tenses all of his muscles only to relax them again; to feel them burning under his skin, the tension giving way as his feet lift from the ground._

 _Grounded while in flight._

 _Freedom._

 _Freedom._

 _Free._

* * *

"What," she remarked, her face floating above him as his eyes slowly opened, "the _actual_ fuck."

James squinted at the flash of light in his eyes, recognizing with a too-slow sense of comprehension that it was coming from the glint of her dark auburn hair.

"Evans," he grunted, swallowing. "What are you doing in my room?"

Her green eyes—as luminescent as the moon had been—narrowed, abruply jolting him awake.

"Are you drunk?" she asked crossly, folding her arms over her chest. "Because I can't see how this fits into your grand plan of trying to convince me that you've improved."

He was not in his bedroom.

He was also quite cold.

James looked down at himself.

"Oh," he said faintly, recognizing his own nakedness and forcing himself not to be bashful.

Lily brought a hand to her face, rubbing her temple as she sighed.

"Explain this," she demanded, gesturing over his form as James gradually came to realize he lay not in his bedroom, but strewn across the common room floor—on his back, one leg kicked out, with absolutely nothing hidden.

She seemed remarkably undeterred, considering.

"Got hot last night," he grunted, knowing there was no reasonable excuse. He sat up, grabbing a pillow and holding it over himself. "Thanks _ever so_ for the dutiful attempt to cover me up, Evans."

She rolled her eyes. "Not my job," she told him. "And, just to clarify, you got hot so you thought _sure_ "—she waved her hand around, adopting an unsavory attempt at imitation that struck him as _much_ too smug, and not nearly an apt representation of his amicable joie de vivre—"clearly, the best idea is to take off all my clothes and sleep in front of the fire," she concluded, lofting a mocking brow.

He glanced over at the fireplace, grimacing. Fine. Not his best excuse—though, pathetically, still certainly not his flimsiest.

"Are you not going to explain why you've just been standing there staring at me?" he challenged, taking advantage of what he felt to be a particularly salient point. "Take it all in, Evans," he encouraged her, referencing himself shamelessly. "Tuck it away for later."

He'd hoped she would be put off by the offering, or at least scandalized by his unapologetic effrontery. _No such luck_ , he realized grimly, feeling himself flush under her pointed scrutiny as her green eyes traveled purposefully over him.

"Well," she determined, her lips pursed as she inspected him. "You're not Sirius."

"Evans!" James exclaimed, clutching his heart in mock—or real, he hadn't yet determined—torment. "That was _glacially_ cold."

"You're not my type," she assured him coolly, moving her hands to her hips. "Though, just to be clear, neither is he."

Bad as being compared to Sirius had been, that was undoubtedly worse. James' chest burned a little as he remembered his friends' tacit assertion of Lily's involvement with Severus Snape.

"But you have a type, then," James noted sourly, shifting the pillow to allow himself to straighten where he sat. "You prefer your men skinny and greasy, do you?"

If she knew what he was accusing her of, she didn't show it. Instead, she merely locked eyes with him, not backing down.

"Would I prefer 'skinny and greasy' to overstuffed toerags with more muscle than sense?" she countered, rolling her eyes. " _Yes_ , unsurprisingly."

If _that_ was an admission, he found he didn't care for it. Still, he forced an impudent smirk.

"Ah," James noted, leaning back. "So you noticed the muscles."

She scoffed irritably and threw another pillow at him, hitting him squarely in the chest. "Put some clothes on, Potter," she huffed, pivoting quickly and returning to her room.

He sighed, waiting for the sound of the door slamming shut before he rose to his feet, stretching out the kinks in his neck and checking himself for damage. A few scratches here and there, he noted, but nothing to indicate what he'd been doing the previous night.

It could have been worse. It _had_ been worse.

Plus, he'd as good as silenced Lily, for once. He was willing to take his victories where he could get them, he reminded himself, trying once again to shove the image of Severus Snape from his tired, pulsing mind.

And anyway… at least she'd noticed, he thought smugly, casting the pillows aside and strutting up the stairs.

* * *

"You know," Caleb ventured smoothly, hoisting his long legs over the bench to take a seat next to Darian. "If you stare any harder, he might just burst into flames."

"Hm?" Darian asked, startled. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from Severus and turned, facing Caleb with a marginal degree of distraction. "I'm not staring."

"Right," Caleb agreed facetiously, rolling his eyes. " _Obviously_."

Darian watched as Severus flipped another page, looking particularly exhausted as he attempted to complete his assignments.

"What do you think his deal is?" Darian asked Caleb, jutting his chin out in reference, and Caleb shrugged, apparently not possessing an answer. "My father sent me an owl about him this morning," Darian added for purposes of explanation, as Caleb nodded slowly. "The Dark Lord is still asking for him, if you can believe that."

Frankly, Darian couldn't. Severus was useful, yes, but hardly worth this unyielding pursuit. It positively reeked of the implication that Severus were some sort of unsuccessful conquest who had openly refused the Dark Lord's normally unerring seduction—more akin to a pretty virgin than a potential associate. In general, such a tireless chase would serve to put Darian off altogether (particularly as in the case of the former, the subsequent fuck was so rarely worth it).

But then again, what did he know, really? It's not like anyone was rushing to call _him_ Lord Mulciber, so perhaps he lacked the authority to make that judgment call.

"I sense he doesn't particularly care for refusal," Caleb determined in answer, smoothing his hair back as he considered it. "Though that may just be my especially keen instinct," he added, giving Darian a gentle nudge with his shoulder and tossing him a wry smirk.

"I can see, _objectively_ , why he would want Severus," Darian mused to himself, "particularly if he heard about him from Lucius—"

Loyalty first. His father had drilled that into him. To question the Dark Lord's motives was punishable at best, a prelude to a "mysterious disappearance" at worst.

"Mm," Caleb murmured patiently, familiar with the choreography. "But—?"

"But," Darian exhaled in agreement, "I honestly can't think why Severus would choose to refuse." He considered the other Slytherin from afar, frowning in thought. "Help me out here," he murmured, turning to Caleb. " _Make_ this make sense."

An odd plea, surely, but Caleb had always had a way of making things a bit clearer, of shaking the fog from Darian's brain; he was a bouncy wall of sorts, and ever so fruitful in inspiration. Darian could see from the pensive look on his face, too, that Caleb was not about to disappoint.

"Only two things motivate people," Caleb ventured, his tone wary after a conspiratorial pause. "Fear, firstly," he supplied quickly, and Darian nodded his vehement agreement.

"And?" Darian prodded.

Caleb tilted his head slightly.

"And love," he concluded, somewhat uncomfortably.

"Love?" Darian repeated, bristling. "Too soft," he determined, adding a gratuitous look of repugnance.

Caleb let out a low chuckle. "Fine, then," he amended, shrugging. "Sex."

Better, Darian thought, nodding. _Definitely_ more realistic in larger, practical terms. Though it was considerably less so when applied to Severus Snape.

"So who do you think Severus is fucking?" Darian asked doubtfully, tilting his head and squinting, as though something might occur to him if he only looked closer. He had his suspicions, of course, but wanted to hear it from Caleb. He wanted proof it wasn't only some minor madness living in his head. "Seeing as it can't be fear," Darian clarified, failing to see the logic in that. "Fear would only work the other way around, wouldn't it? If he were afraid, then how could he refuse?"

"Unless he's afraid that the fucking will stop," Caleb countered.

"True," Darian conceded, making a face. He slumped down a little lower in his chair, kicking his feet out in front of him. "It has to be Evans, right?"

The idea had already occurred to him, of course, and he was already quite sure. But it never hurt to seek counsel.

"Seems unlikely," Caleb sniffed, seeming to find the initial idea abhorrent. "But I suppose if there _is_ someone," he determined uncertainly, "then yes. It's got to be her."

Fucking Lily Evans.

Or, he amended internally, perhaps not.

"Maybe I can use that," Darian decided, humming a little to himself. "Right?"

"I wouldn't make a stab in the dark," Caleb warned, turning his head to regard Darian with a look of caution. "The potential for leverage is considerably diminished if your information is wrong."

"Ah, and here I thought I was the smart one," Darian smirked. "What do you suggest, then, Mr Avery?"

Caleb paused to consider the question, his jaw tensed in thought.

"Potter," he determined after a moment, nodding as though he considered it the idea of the century.

Darian blinked. "I'm waiting for you to make _that_ make sense," he scoffed, finding himself less than pleased with that bespectacled twat's face floating around in his mind. "Potter?"

"Who would have a closer eye on a guy fucking Evans than the guy who's wanted to fuck Evans for seven years?" Caleb pointed out, and Darian laughed.

"Not sure that information would be given to me willingly," Darian reminded him, shaking his head at the concept. "I'm not exactly one of his confidants, as it were."

"Yes, _but_ , Potter is loud and petty," Caleb countered. "It won't take much effort if all you're looking for is information." He let his eyes flick back to Severus. "I can't imagine Potter would be thrilled," he added, clearly unable to stop a smile at mere suggestion of the Gryffindor golden boy's torment.

"I thought the point was to seek out _accurate_ information?" Darian asked, lifting a brow. "Seems like a poor choice."

Caleb groaned. "Fine. Someone in that circle, then," he permitted. "Lupin's a Prefect—"

"So am I, you prat," Darian huffed.

"Yeah, but Evans hates you," Caleb said, brushing Darian's point away. "She seems to genuinely like Lupin. Plus," he added, "if not Lupin, then surely Black."

"Are we just traveling down the list, then?" Darian mocked, though he could tell his expression had soured at the mention of Sirius Black. "Next you're going to suggest Pettigrew, I assume?"

Caleb visibly shuddered. "Not him," he insisted gruffly, his voice uncharacteristically clipped. "That one creeps me out."

"You think?" Darian prompted, still trying to suppress the eerie way Peter's eyes had fallen on Caleb's bent head in the Potions classroom—an event Darian was sure he could never reveal, seeing as it implicated himself in previously reproved indiscretions. "Seems harmless, though, doesn't he?"

"They always do," Caleb permitted silkily, jerking his head to reference Severus. "The quiet ones, you know," he clarified. " _They're_ always the ones who scribble notes in the margins about how to make people bleed."

Darian sat up for a moment, considering it.

"You know, Caleb," Darian began slowly, beginning to fit the pieces together in his head as he watched Severus scrawl furiously over his parchment. "Perhaps Severus will sing a slightly different tune if he becomes implicated in a somewhat sinister plot. What a pity that would be," he added insincerely, turning to grin at Caleb.

"On to something, are you?" Caleb nodded his approval. "Poor Severus," he mused, a brief smile painted across his lips. "He really doesn't stand a chance."

"Well, you know me," Darian said, throwing his right arm over Caleb's shoulder even as his mind traveled to the Mark on his left. "I do hate to disappoint."

* * *

It was only when Lily ran into Mary and Marlene in the hall between classes that she even realized how long it had actually been since she'd spent any time with them; she'd have to sacrifice some time with Severus, she decided, or else stop wasting her time bickering with James Potter. Somewhere or another, something had to give.

"Lily," Marlene exclaimed in surprise, reaching her with a fairly ill-contained squeal. "There you are!"

"She's _alive_ ," Mary added, the freckles around her eyes becoming visible as she offered Lily a particularly beguiling smirk. "Well, that's inconvenient. We'll have to cancel the candlelight vigil we had planned for this evening—"

"Oh, stop," Lily cut in, rolling her eyes, though she quickly fell in step with the other two. "I've just been busy, that's all—"

"Are you sure you're not just hiding out in your totally luxurious Head dorm?" Mary suggested, and Marlene reached over Lily to swat playfully at the brunette.

"Oh stop—you can just ignore her, Lil," Marlene said quickly, turning slightly to grace Lily with her sunny smile. "I'm sure she's just forgotten how much work you must have to do—"

"No I haven't," Mary countered brusquely. "I've just heard that… it's very _nice_ ," she informed Lily, in a particularly suggestive way—sort of like how Lily's mother occasionally tried to guilt her into things. _Are you sure you don't want to go out with my friend Joanne's son, Lily?_ She nearly let her expression slip at the reminder. _I've heard that he's very… nice!_

"And how've you heard that?" Lily prompted, feeling a little breathless at being caught up in conversation with them again. Mary and Marlene were chatty and breezy, effortless and quick. Severus had never had any patience for them—didn't much feel obliged to keep up with their particularly spirited cadence—but Lily found she'd missed them immensely.

"Oh, just something Sirius mentioned," Mary supplied innocently, and Lily's eyes widened as she saw Marlene quickly turn away, hiding a laugh.

"Mary," Lily scolded, taking Marlene's amusement as a signal and grabbing her friend's arm. "You're not still barking up that tree, are you?"

"Hopefully not, as the tree could _not_ be less interested," Marlene assured her drily, and Lily giggled, watching Mary's face redden several shades.

"Listen, the tree has been _extremely_ satisfactory in the past," Mary insisted, though she could barely manage to keep a straight face over Lily and Marlene's shared amusement. "And for the record, if you'd experienced the tree, you'd still be barking too!"

"That tree _definitely_ has taken up other activities," Lily offered apologetically, wondering if Mary could have possibly failed to notice.

"With another tree," Marlene supplied, failing to suppress a laugh.

"I don't even care," Mary replied airily, shrugging her narrow shoulders. "If he wakes up one day and decides he wants a goddamn garden instead—" She cut herself off, glaring at the other two as they doubled over laughing. " _What?"_

"Nothing," Lily said, stretching out the muscles of her tired smile. "Best of luck, Mar."

"Listen, I'm just saying," Mary continued, her lips posed in a ladylike half-smile, "if _you'd_ been there and could attest as to the fucking"—she paused, sighing dreamily—"the fucking _beauty_ of his c- "

In a stroke of fate, Lily managed to clap her hand over Mary's mouth just as she saw a familiar silhouette approaching, saving her from what could have accounted for several different lifetimes of humiliation (or, more importantly, a highly unnecessary stroke to Sirius Black's already-inflated ego).

"Lils," Sirius drawled, coming to a halt in front of her to greet them one by one. "Marlene. Mary."

"Mmmph," Mary replied, her mouth still obstructed by Lily's hand.

"Having a little hen party, are you?" Sirius noted, amused.

"Well, you know what they say, Sirius—" Lily began cheerfully, only to release Mary with a startled squeak as the other girl licked the palm of her hand.

"No, actually," Sirius replied, grinning. "What do they say?"

"It was almost certainly going to be a cock metaphor," Mary assured him, wiping her mouth, and Lily nodded solemnly.

"It was," she confirmed. "But I'll leave it to your imagination."

"Better off there, I think," Sirius agreed smoothly, running a hand through his hair. "Can we chat, Lils?"

"By all means," Lily agreed, shifting to join him before glancing apologetically between the other two girls. "Sorry," she mouthed, frowning a little. "Hogsmeade this weekend?"

"Quidditch," Marlene said reluctantly, and Lily smacked her palm against her forehead, wondering how she could have possibly forgotten that with James strutting around their dorm announcing it.

Really, he was essentially a human vuvuzela.

"Right," she managed, aiming for airy and arriving at feigned. "Well, I'll find you after, then!"

The girls parted ways in a flurry of hugs and then Lily sidled up to Sirius, who was patiently waiting.

"My lady," he offered, inclining his head and gesturing her forward.

"If you call me Princess Lily, I'll murder you," she warned him, though she fell comfortably in step beside him, so the threat fell particularly flat.

He chuckled a little. "James giving you problems, is he?"

"James Potter is a bundle of problems," Lily reminded him, shaking her head. "Though I'm at least glad to see he's recovered from his inadvisable crush on me."

"Ah yes, fully recovered," Sirius assured her. "Gives _no_ fucks, as I've been comfortably assured."

"Good," she declared, thinking once again of James Potter's spectacularly punchable face. "I found him naked in our common room this morning," she added, wrinkling her nose.

"I heard," Sirius said smoothly. "I also heard you compared him rather unfavorably to me."

Lily let out a deep, dramatic sigh. "If you've pulled me aside so that I can assure you that you remain the gold standard for _all men_ —"

"He thinks you and Snape have something going," Sirius interrupted innocently, turning his impassive grey gaze on her.

" _What?_ " Lily squawked. "I mean," she amended, trying to recover from her graceless reaction, "where would he get that idea?"

"Me, partially," Sirius supplied, and she glared at him.

"Seriously?" she demanded, and then grimaced, registering her careless slip.

"I'm always Sirius," he announced soberly, and she smacked her books against his arm.

"Don't," she warned, and he winked.

"Look," Sirius said, glancing around before pulling her aside. "I just wanted to give you the opportunity to tell me the truth, you know." He shrugged. "In case you want to talk about it."

Lily felt an odd stirring in her chest that she assumed had to be gratitude, but she fought violently to ignore it. "Why?"

"Because we're friends," he reminded her, tapping her nose with his finger. "Pals, one might say."

" _Please_ don't say that," she insisted, shaking her head, and he laughed again.

"Fine," he agreed. "We're just Lily and Sirius. The flower and the constellation," he added playfully.

"Starflower," Lily suggested whimsically, and he tapped her nose again.

"Precisely," he agreed. "So."

He arched a brow expectantly, and she sighed.

"I don't need you to share the details of my private life with the world's most inconsiderate roommate," she told him gruffly, trying to explain her hesitation. "I'd rather James not be involved in the inner workings of my romantic life."

"This isn't about James," Sirius assured her, and she recognized that he was offering her one of his particularly sincere moments.

These such moments had happened quite a bit throughout the years, all of them quietly, and largely unbeknownst to their respective friend groups. Mary and Marlene (for all that Marlene would never admit it) had always been half in love with Sirius, and the same was true for James on Lily's behalf; any knowledge of their relationship—that Sirius had first come to Lily when things were difficult at home, for example, or that Lily had cried in Sirius' arms when she'd gotten a particularly unpleasant grade from Professor Binns (her first and only)—would only have been used against them as a means by which to facilitate the relationships the others had so desired.

He wasn't a secret like Severus was a secret, but still—her friendship with Sirius was something that was private, and only for them. If he said it wasn't about James, she had enough experience to know that he meant it.

"It's… quiet," she offered him, feeling a strange shift at the knowledge that now _somebody else knew_. "Very quiet."

He nodded.

"I know the feeling," Sirius agreed, and Lily looked up in surprise, wondering if it was to be a mutual sharing period.

"So," she started, trying to be casual. "You and Remus?"

"Quiet," he agreed. "He doesn't need another reason to be different."

"And you do?" Lily asked pointedly, delicately arching a single brow. "Seems silly."

"Well, I could say the same," Sirius pointed out, and she, rightfully, fidgeted at the comparison. "But I won't," he conceded grandly, "because I'm a fucking gentleman."

"So am I!" Lily insisted, indignant. It was never a good sign when Sirius Black was accusing someone else of even mild hypocrisy.

"Not true. You have _never_ been a gentleman, Lily Evans," he remarked airily, "and frankly, you're hardly even a lady."

She squared her shoulders. "Sirius Black, you little—"

But by then he had wrapped her in an unrelenting hug, crushing her cheek against his chest.

"Just be careful," he warned her, and she patted his back fondly.

 _You too_ , she tried to say, but she was squished in far too tightly.

* * *

"When was the last time you felt free?" Lily asked, burying her lips against his neck.

She had moments like this; introspection, he supposed. He was normally happy to oblige, though it generally meant she was overthinking something.

"When I'm with you," Severus replied, letting his fingers trace over the bare curve of her shoulder.

"Always?" she asked, pulling away to look up at him.

He nodded. "Always," he assured her, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "Though the sooner I can get out of this school, the better," he muttered, and felt her stiffen at that.

"What will we do next, do you think?" she whispered, and he got that little twitch of alignment; the feeling he always experienced when he was able to slowly piece together her worries, to stitch together her thoughts.

"Be together," he suggested, hoping it would be enough. "Be happy."

"Happy." She moved around slightly, resting her chin against his chest. "Are you not happy now?"

No. Not by a long shot. Not until he could be rid of James Potter. Not until he could shake the feeling that Darian Mulciber had been keeping too close a watch on him. Not until he knew he could take her away from everything she feared; from every threat she sensed.

No.

 _And yet_ —"I think if you can teach me, I'll learn," he whispered, and breathed in the smell of her hair as she pulled him close, ready to start a new lesson.


	6. The Threats

**Chapter 6: The Threats**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: none—today, at least, but there's always tomorrow. Fear: unnatural. Breaths: held. Political climate: at least if it rained we would know that it's raining._

* * *

 _Dear Severus,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. You may have already heard this from one of the other Slytherins, but in the event you were unaware, I am currently being vetted for the school board, and so have had the pleasure of running into Caleb and Darian in the last week or so. Perhaps it's just nostalgia for the old days, but having not had the fortune of catching you in the midst of my recent Hogwarts visits, I thought I'd send a quick note._

Of course. No ulterior motive _whatsoever_ , Severus though skeptically, continuing to read.

 _I'm finding life post-Hogwarts to be quite rewarding. I am not without the favor that accompanies being a former Prefect, of course, but I will say that having the support of a certain figure of some influence behind my endeavors has been particularly advantageous._

Utter ludicrous _,_ Severus thought, with half a mind to crumple the letter right then as he looked up in displeasure. If _his_ was really the way of the future, why pursue the aura of secrecy? If the so-called Dark Lord's right to prominence was inevitable—and, as Lucius seemed to indicate, _worthy_ —then why not simply name him, take up his cause, and be done with the pretense?

Severus moved to dispose of the letter and paused, hesitating. Truth be told, a letter of any kind was a rarity, and Severus' battle against his better judgment was waning in the face of his interest being piqued. After a moment of pause, he half-heartedly skimmed on, his stomach plummeting slightly as he reached the final paragraph.

 _I've not forgotten you, Severus, nor the promise you showed while we were schoolmates. I've made sure to enumerate at great length the ways in which I feel you are well suited for his cause, and it would indeed be an understatement to say that he has been exceptionally receptive. Your ingenuity is quite remarkable, you know—has always been, even in your early academic years—and I think you'll find that you would be well received and fruitfully rewarded; favored, even, as I have been. You are in many ways a kindred spirit of his—brilliant and gifted, with many shared ideologies—and I take great pride in recommending you for his cause._

 _As a friend, I urge you to consider the possibilities that exist within his service; truth be told, I'm concerned for you, Severus. Darian and Caleb tell me you've no plans beyond graduation, and I have to say I was surprised and dismayed to hear it. I had always expected far greater things from you. I trust you will make the effort to invest in the kind of future I know you deserve._

 _Perhaps the next time I am called upon to stop by the school, we might have a chance to properly speak; I am sure you would find it beneficial, and I would be pleased of the opportunity._

And at the bottom, of course, there was the elegant, swooping lines of the sender's illustrious monogram; the unmistakable signature of one very influential, highly motivated Lucius Malfoy.

It was all Severus could do to not sigh dramatically in utter resignation.

"Students," Slughorn called, his booming voice carrying through the dungeon. "You'll split up, please, to work on today's assignment—Potter and Lupin," he began, randomly assigning partners, "Evans and Avery—Black and Pettigrew—Snape and Stebbins—"

He continued calling out the remainder of the pairs as Severus came quietly to his feet, moving with muted ambivalence to take a seat next to Grant Stebbins, a Ravenclaw Prefect.

He could have done a lot worse, he reminded himself with a grimace, thinking of the many times in which he'd been paired with one of James Potter's idiotic friends (never with James himself, of course; the teachers knew better). Lily was relatively fond of Grant Stebbins, though Severus suspected that was more out of solidarity with the lone fellow muggleborn Prefect than anything else. Stebbins was largely dry and uninteresting, and was mostly passed over by others—with the exception of the time he'd been admonished during his O.W.L.s by Professor Flitwick for having continued to write past the exam's conclusion.

Typical Ravenclaw, all things considered.

Stebbins nodded once at Severus and then they quickly looked at their books, focused on the task at hand. Neither were very chatty, and Severus in particular did not wish to speak. Several minutes went by in silence, their interactions limited to alternative bouts of gesturing and polite grunts of acknowledgement.

In the meantime, Severus snuck several glances at Lily, who was very skeptically working with Caleb Avery at one of the stations across the room. Caleb appeared to be keeping his distance, and for that, Severus found himself unnervingly pleased; grateful, at least, that someone he might have considered a friend was capable of not being entirely invasive. It was an exceptionally minimal standard, but he would have expected worse from Darian—and he certainly never enjoyed watching Lily interact with James.

Severus was about to return his focus to his work at hand when something caught his eye; he wasn't entirely sure what, at first, but knew immediately—instinctively—that something about the scene wasn't right. Nearly every student was peering intently at his or her textbook, or frowning warily at their respective bubbling cauldrons, but Severus looked up to catch Darian's dark eyes where they were affixed to Lily's bent head.

In a moment of confusion, Severus continued to stare. If Darian noticed, he clearly did not feel the need to avert his gaze, which seemed to follow Lily's every movement.

Lily, by contrast, seemed particularly transfixed by her work, biting her lip slightly as she carefully transferred the ingredient she was adding. It was only when she accidentally knocked a small knife to the ground, the metal clanging disruptively to the floor, that Severus realized she was actually quite distracted; her mind appeared to be elsewhere, and her wide green eyes were distinctly unsettled.

She wasn't normally clumsy; dropping things was out of character, and the strange look of elsewhere-ness on her face seemed even more distressing. Despite being across the room from her, Severus came quickly to his feet, succumbing to an impractical impulse to come to her aid. As she bent to retrieve the knife, however, Severus watched with breathless opposition as Darian coolly arrived there first, his fingers grasping the handle before she had fully knelt to reach it.

Initially Darian picked up the knife by the hilt, letting the blade aim up towards Lily's chest, the way it had fallen; at Lily's look of hesitant discomfort, though, Darian gave her a brief, telling smirk, deftly flipping the narrow silver blade in his hand and offering her the handle.

"Careful, Evans," Darian warned, his voice low.

And then he turned to smile chillingly at Severus.

* * *

"Moony," James offered pleasantly, nodding as Remus approached. "Prepared to wow me, Professor Lupin?"

The smile he offered was weak, at best. "Hardly requires much preparation to do that."

"Ah, you wound," James lamented, but he could see Remus was not in much of a mood for banter. He offered Remus a solemn smile, pressing his hand into the other boy's shoulder.

"Want to talk about it?" James prompted cautiously, watching as Remus fussed slowly with the materials before them. Remus wasn't generally an agitated sort of person—not like James—but he was sorting mindlessly through the small vials of their ingredients as though his fingers were nervous, twitching with a need for something within his control.

There was a pause as James waited, and Remus considered the offer.

"Not sure what I would say," Remus finally replied, not looking up. He continued to fidget, appearing to line the lacewing flies by order of wingspan as James, pensively considering his next move, began to heat the cauldron.

"Well," James ventured carefully, coaxing his voice into its gentlest variety, "maybe you might consider telling me how you felt about the article in the _Daily Prophet_ today."

Remus looked up at him, startled.

"Yes," James proclaimed, sniffing affectedly, "contain your surprise, Moony. I read."

Remus offered him a wary half-smile. "You saw that, did you?"

"I try to keep apprised of things as they relate to your furry little problem," James replied. He thought for a moment to punctuate the statement with one of his signature affectations—haughtily pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose came to mind as an option, for example—but he sobered at the sight of Remus' crestfallen face.

"Hey," James said seriously, abandoning his airs and nudging Remus. "Talk to me."

Remus remained quiet, looking at his hands where they sat clasped in his lap, still fidgeting.

"It's not like I'm surprised," Remus remarked grimly, a shadow of lifelong exhaustion crossing over his face. He paused, looking around; nobody was listening, but he still leaned in to speak in a low voice to James. "After all, a furry little _registration commission_ has been a long time coming," he pronounced conclusively.

The fact that mandating werewolves to register with the Ministry had been 'a long time coming' was _precisely_ why James had read the article. It was tucked away in the chasms of the newspaper, a tiny column that was seemingly unremarkable amongst bigger, louder, shoutier news—but still, James had trained himself to catch that sort of thing. He had developed an instinct over time to keep his eyes peeled for anything that might concern Remus, and " _Movement for Werewolf Registration Committee Brought Before Wizengamot, Passes With Slim Majority,_ " certainly qualified as a thing of concern.

"Did Dumbledore say anything to you?" James asked quietly. "I have to imagine he was one of the ones who voted against it, wasn't he?"

Remus shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he grunted dispassionately, and James saw for the first time a lingering shadow of resignation that had never existed before. "Sometimes I wonder if he did me a disservice," Remus admitted slowly, picking up the dried nettles and beginning to disperse them over the beginnings of their potion.

"What do you mean?" James prompted gently, taking over the process of crushing the bicorn horn and trying not to look too curious. "Did you a disservice by bringing you here, you mean?"

"In a sense," Remus replied, his mouth twisting into a hesitant frown. "He gave me hope, you know," he explained softly. "And sometimes, that feels like the worst thing he could have done to me."

James swallowed painfully, recognizing the torment in his friend's voice and hoping that anything he managed to contribute would (for _once_ ) amount to more than facetious blithering.

"Do you really believe that?" James attempted, still pretending to focus intently on his valerian sprigs. "Or is this"—he paused thoughtfully—"potentially your discouragement talking?"

"I don't know how much I _always_ believe it, but I certainly sometimes do," Remus replied, sounding distinctly deflated. "I mean," he amended forcefully, straightening as though he were battling guilt, "I know I should be _grateful_ to him—"

"Hey," James said sternly, unable to stop himself from flashing a brief glare at the boy beside him. "This isn't an interview with _Witch Weekly_ ," he reminded Remus. "You can tell me what you really think, if you want to."

Remus looked startled for a moment, but then his expression softened considerably. "If you insist," he replied, smiling a little.

"I do," said James, loftily. Remus considered him for a moment before answering.

"He brought me to Hogwarts, and he did everything he could to help me hide," Remus remarked tightly. "But for what?"

Remus opened his mouth to continue what was sure to be a vaguely professorial tirade but then paused, his countenance souring a little at whatever had crossed his mind.

"So I'll have an education, sure," he said bitterly, "but _no_ chance at a job, and—" he broke off, choking a little on the anger he was so adamantly fighting. "And there won't _be_ any hiding anymore," he added. "I won't be able to live a 'normal' life, or any sort of life at all, not with this—this _registration—_ "

He cut himself off in anguish, leaving James to struggle with a pain in his own chest.

He surreptitiously put his hand on Remus' shoulder, stilling him; they were still in the classroom, after all, and it wasn't the time to lose composure. Remus sighed heavily, the tension in his muscle easing under James' hand.

"Sorry," Remus croaked gruffly, shifting a little where he stood. "Not the time or place, I know."

"Personally, I'd be a lot angrier than you are," James commented, realizing as he said the words how stunningly true they were. "Come to think of it, I _am_ very angry," he continued, finally recognizing the festering feeling in his chest for what it was. "Do you think there's any chance it won't be as bad as we think?"

"Almost none," Remus replied smartly, tugging a little at his school tie to loosen it around his neck. "Registration certainly _sounds_ innocuous enough—"

"Until they do something with it," James supplied, nodding his reluctant understanding. "I get it."

They were quiet for a moment, letting the sounds of idle student chatter and the familiar clatter of materials fill the space around them.

"I just don't know what I'll do when school ends," Remus finally admitted. "It makes every day here seem both more meaningful, and"—his shoulders slumped forward—" _much_ more pointless."

"Easy. You'll come live with me," James supplied, shrugging. "Sirius already does, and you're a much better houseguest. Cleaner," he explained with a smirk. "Better manners."

Remus chuckled weakly. "Thanks, Prongs," he sighed. "But really, you can't turn your house into some kind of orphanage for broken kids."

"I can and I will," James declared, nudging Remus until he unwillingly let out an irritated laugh. "But seriously," James pressed, aiming for sincerity. "Don't worry about that—I said _don't_ ," he commanded brusquely, cutting Remus off as he made to argue. "I don't have time to hear it, Remus, as I'm very busy," he sniffed, gesturing to the potion they had both given approximately one iota of their attention to.

A single fuck, as it were.

"Sure," Remus conceded, hiding a smile. "Thanks," he added. "For, you know."

"What?" James prompted. "Caring?"

"Yeah," Remus replied evasively, shrugging. "That."

"Oh _Moony_ ," James declared, giving him a coquettish wink. "You know I cherish you."

Remus rolled his eyes and looked up, finally ready to give their potion its requisite attention. Between the two of them, James and Remus were easily skilled enough to have avoided committing any major mistakes, but it was very obvious that they were behind the progress of the other students around them; even Severs, who seemed to be unrelenting in his gawking at Lily from across the room, had managed to bring his potion to a bubbling, pleasantly golden tint.

"Hey," Remus said, pausing to furrow his brow as he rolled his sleeves up. "Do you know who has the map?"

"Wormtail, I think," James replied absently, frowning as he noticed that Darian Mulciber, too, seemed to be looking a tad creepily in Lily's direction.

"He's had it for a while, hasn't he?" Remus asked, tilting his head curiously. "What's he been up to?"

"Don't know," James said, realizing with alarm that he really didn't. "Been busy, I guess." He shrugged. "We'll have to check in with him, I suppose."

"Hate to think he's getting into shenanigans without us," Remus remarked.

"It's hijinks now," James reminded him, admonishing him with a vial of bat spleens. "Because we're _adults_."

"Mm," Remus agreed; he wasn't listening. James followed his gaze to where Darian offered Lily her knife back, feeling distinctly unsettled by the scene.

"Weird," James commented with a frown, watching Severus' face go pale across the room.

Remus' brow furrowed.

"Mm," he agreed.

* * *

Lily was finding it difficult to concentrate, and the pressure of being partnered with Caleb was no help. For all his barely-concealed partiality, Slughorn certainly hadn't done her any favors, she thought, letting her gaze flick back to the where Caleb Avery had begun gathering ingredients for their potion.

Where to start with her numerous concerns?

The news of more muggleborns going missing day by day had been difficult to ignore, to say the least. The headlines had been so exceedingly invasive and dramatic that to then be abruptly emptied of news prevented any comprehensible understanding of the situation. Lily found herself so frustrated by the sensationalism that she could hardly stand to read anything else, abandoning the paper after the first page. She had wondered if it was time to look into protecting her family, but certainly didn't know where to begin. _That_ conversation (with Petunia, specifically) would go badly no matter what, Lily thought with a grimace, and besides, there was no telling what was going on outside the castle walls. Perhaps the time was not yet _so_ dire.

Then there was Severus. She'd seen him get an owl during breakfast, and judging from the imperious quality of the bird and the surreptitious way Severus had immediately tucked the letter into his robe, she couldn't help but feel that it was from someone whose correspondence she wouldn't approve—and that as a result, there was something she wasn't being told. Severus wasn't one to receive letters, and while the letter's existence wasn't _inherently_ suspicious, she was a bit alarmed by the way he'd chosen to read it—half-hidden under the shadow of his desk, scowling at its contents.

She was unfailingly curious to begin with, and now she was practically pulsing with the desire to snatch it from his hands; to finally take a deep breath of knowledge and proceed through her day with the satisfaction of being informed. The way Severus kept sneaking glances at her wasn't at _all_ reassuring, and as much as she was consciously punishing him by ignoring his too-frequent attention, she still wasn't able to focus. She'd been dropping things, spilling them; she nearly accidentally added billywigs instead of lacewings, and had only been prevented the crippling error by a strangely patient correction from Caleb.

Ah, and _that_ was another thing. It seemed handsome Slytherins were _all_ behaving spectacularly out of character, which was not a promising thought. Lily knew from experience that Caleb Avery, and Darian Mulciber, who was still regarding her with a markedly reserved distance, were never to be trusted when they were being quiet. She suspected, too, that her look of gratitude had been partially obscured by a look of bemusement. Caleb had certainly never been helpful to her before.

"Thanks," she said hesitantly, and he gave her a curt nod.

Oh, he was attractive, she thought, taking in the faintly golden spillover of curls onto his forehead. It was just such a shame that all the good-looking ones were such intolerable _arseholes_ , she reminded herself, feeling the hairs rise on the back of her neck at the knowledge that James Potter was behind her.

And speaking of _him_ —Godric, there would never be an end to the irritating distraction that was James Potter. It was not even remotely helpful that she now knew what he looked like naked; even _less_ helpful that there was so little there to criticize.

She kicked herself mentally at letting the visual re-invade her mind, and in so doing, hastily proceeded to drop the knife she had used to cut the sopophorus bean, jolting back to reality as it clattered to the ground.

"Oh," she said, feeling her cheeks redden as she turned apologetically to Caleb. "Sorry."

He shrugged, the portrait of lofty indifference.

Lily sighed, turning to pick up the knife; to her surprise, though, Darian had gotten there first. Worse, when she bent to reach it, he had grasped it by the hilt, letting the point of it angle towards her chest.

For a moment she had a fanciful image in her head of him plunging the narrow blade upwards—skewering her heart, laughing hysterically, standing over her as she convulsed in a river of her own blood—but then he quickly and deftly flipped the thin silver knife in his hand, offering her the handle.

 _You're being stupid_ , Lily scolded herself, her heart pounding in her chest. It was natural that he had picked it up like that— _Who picks knives up by the blade? Think, Lily, think_ —and what had occurred in her head was merely a strange foray into absurdity that had _only_ crossed her mind because, as Petunia adamantly reminded her, she was overdramatic and self-obsessed.

Or something like that, Lily insisted to herself, pressing a hand to her chest.

"Careful, Evans," Darian said evenly.

His voice was deep and low and vaguely intimate, and she fought an irrepressible shiver, wondering again how something that was _entirely nothing_ could still get under her skin.

But when she straightened to meet Caleb's eyes and found that he, too, was smiling, she wondered just how much _nothing_ it took before it suddenly amounted to something.

* * *

"Careful, Evans," Darian purred, sparing her only a moment before he let his eyes flick upwards, meeting Severus' across the room.

Of course Severus had been looking; he'd even gone as far as to start walking towards Lily, as though he might somehow intervene. Darian offered him a slow, creeping smile, one that was equal parts amusement and invitation, and watched with a perverse sense of satisfaction as Severus' face went pale. Lily, meanwhile, continued to gape unsteadily, her fingers white where they clutched the silver knife.

A pity for the both of them, Darian supposed. He would have to make a point to teach Severus that predictability was dangerous—once they were solidly on the same side again, of course. As it was, he was making everything _far_ too easy.

The danger of predictability was lesson one. Lesson two, he thought (his stomach flipping slightly as he looked up to catch the smirk on Caleb's face) was that being vulnerable for the wrong person was equally dangerous. That, though, was another issue entirely, and one with which Darian was intimately familiar. It was also a lesson he was considerably less qualified to teach.

By the time class was over, everyone seemed particularly exhausted, and nearly all the potions seemed entirely unimpressive; even James Potter and Remus Lupin, who normally excelled to great and highly irritating celebration by Slughorn in their vaguely nerdy tour de force, seemed distracted, heads bent in quiet conversation until just before the end of class, nearly failing to finish in time.

In the end it was only Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew who had been bored (or boring) enough to actually focus on the creation of their potion; Slughorn fussed over Sirius, of course, who had likely been the one to pull it off. Darian, in answer, had been concerned he might roll his eyes so hard they'd never be retrieved from the back of his skull, but had stopped short at another eerily unguarded glance from Peter.

He _was_ creepy, Darian realized, letting his eyes flick back to Caleb, who also appeared in danger of being toxically unimpressed in the afterglow of Sirius Black's perfectly adequate potion.

By the time Slughorn dismissed them, everyone seemed desperate to race out of the classroom; Lily did not look back, shoving her things into her bag and taking off at a near sprint, while Severus looked anxiously after her, conscientiously picking up speed and colliding with James Potter at the door.

The two raven-haired wizards glared at each other, and for a moment Darian almost reached excitedly for Caleb's arm, _positive_ as he was that one was surely going to hex the other. But as quickly as the moment had arrived, it dispersed; Remus grabbed hold of James' robe and yanked him backwards, giving Severs the opportunity to slip out the door, swooping away.

James, meanwhile, gave an indignant squawk, but inclined his head sheepishly at a stern glance from Remus. _Idiots_ , Darian thought, wrinkling his nose in contempt. They were constantly having to babysit each other as part of some ongoing cycle of staggering codependency.

Fucking _ridiculous._

Caleb, meanwhile, sidled up next to Darian, falling in step with him as they spilled out into the hallway.

"The knife thing was a nice touch," Caleb commented, keeping his voice low.

"It was rather poetic, wasn't it?" Darian admitted, allowing himself a moment of self-congratulatory praise. "Of course, her dropping it was just a stroke of luck."

"It'd have been a much less effective move with a flobberworm," Caleb admitted, and Darian grinned at the absurdity.

"Never good to opt for a flaccid threat," he gravely agreed, and Caleb laughed.

They walked several feet in silence, their footsteps echoing against the castle walls.

"An altogether elegant web," Caleb determined after a few moments, giving Darian an appreciative nod. "A well orchestrated misdirection, Maestro."

"You think he bought it, then?" Darian asked, and Caleb let out a barking laugh.

"Yes," he proclaimed decisively, giving Darian a look of haughty impatience. "You saw his face."

He certainly had; Severus had never looked so pale.

"Good," Darian pronounced at that, nodding thoughtfully. "So," he ventured, pausing mid-stride and turning to Caleb. "Grant Stebbins, then?"

Caleb nodded. "Grant Stebbins," he agreed.

" _He_ certainly got dealt a shoddy hand," Darian mused grimly.

Caleb shrugged. "We're all here to play the same game," he said slowly. "But someone always has to lose."

Darian let out a slow exhale. "Here's hoping it's never us."


	7. The Unraveling

**Chapter 7: The Unraveling**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: a string of muggles, a guillotine of fallen. Overused idioms:_ I told you so, count your chickens, watch your back _. Accusations: silent, for fear of silence. Political climate: maybe some new blood will help keep us warm._

* * *

"You got a letter."

She hadn't meant to be so confrontational; call it _enthusiasm_ , she supposed. Severus would know that, anyway.

He cleared his throat, his eyes flicking down _ever_ so slightly; a surefire tell.

 _Well . . ._

She gave him a particularly off-putting glare.

 _Don't even try, Severus._

He sighed.

"Yes," he returned morosely, sulkily, like a child being forced against his will. His subsequent swallow of discomfort was not particularly reassuring either, and when he placed a tentative hand on her hip, she swatted him away. He wasn't especially gratuitous with physical indicators of his affection, and if he were resorting to it now, it was rather unsubtly meant to be a distraction.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

 _Don't,_ he was begging her. _Please._

No. Not this time.

 _Tell me._

"It's not important," he sighed, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a hasty, disjointed cartwheel of denial. "It was just—" he hesitated. "It was nothing."

She crossed her arms.

 _Like hell it was._

"Lily—"

His sigh was frustrated, exasperated. Patronizing.

Time to try another method of persuasion.

"Severus." She stepped toward him, running her fingers fondly along the sharpened jut of his cheek; he instinctively leaned into her touch, as she knew he would.

"This isn't the time to start keeping secrets," she reminded him.

He flinched at that.

"Unless," she countered slowly, "this is only one of many things you're keeping to yourself."

He looked pained. She could see him struggling.

"It's not a secret," he said, though his tone was still uncertain; still indicative of dipping a toe into what would likely be a frosty surface, an unpleasant conversation.

"Look," he finally sighed, and then she knew she had him. "It was a letter from Lucius."

She wrinkled her nose. "Oh."

 _Why not just tell me that?_

He sighed. _There's more._

Obviously.

"What did he want?" she broached casually, leaning in. He reached for her and she allowed it this time, feeling herself fit perfectly within the crevice of his arms.

"Nothing important," he ventured, and as uneasy as he was when he said it, she sensed it was at least partially true. "Small talk."

"Small talk," she scoffed. "From Lucius Malfoy? _Ha_." A humorless laugh. "Even what he considers to be small talk is clearly tipped with poison."

"Doesn't matter," Severus told her, his voice muffled as he buried his face in her hair. "Whatever he's up to—"

"You say that like you don't know," Lily admonished flatly, pulling back to give him a pursed look of skeptical disapproval. "It's not a secret, Severus. It's not like he's trying to hide."

He bristled momentarily.

"And yet," Severus replied crisply, his tongue clicking slightly on the word, "it still _doesn't matter._ "

It was a little harsh; her breath caught.

He, instantly regretful of his tone, pulled her in tighter, like he was afraid she might go; she squirmed, sliding her chin up against his chest to look at him.

"Doesn't it, though?"

"No." A weighty sound, sometimes, when the word came from him. "You know what my plans are once we get out of here."

She sighed a little at that, burrowing into his chest to fight the chill of his tone. "You always say that like _here_ is such a bad place to be," she murmured. "At least we're safe here, you know."

He seemed to disagree. "We'll be safer when we're gone."

"Why?" she asked, pulling away. "Out in the dark, scary _world_? How would we be safer?"

She'd meant it as a joke, but it sent a shiver of anxiety through her, the eerie truth of it coursing through her veins. It didn't help that he didn't laugh.

"We won't stay around here, for one thing," he said plainly. "We'll go somewhere else. Somewhere he's not looking."

"Wait." She pulled out of his arms, processing the new information. "You want to—what, run away?"

"I do," he confessed, though it was a somewhat bemused confession; it was too easy a response, his head tilted slightly, as though he would have expected her to have known that already. "You can't tell me you honestly want to stay here," he added, and she felt a strange recognition of inequity; a shift in power, somehow, that told her he was taking on the role of parenting her. He was _telling_ her what was best. "We don't need to be in the crossfires of whatever's brewing in Britain, Lily—"

"But I will be," she reminded him, frowning. "By default."

 _Mudblood, remember?_

He shut his eyes, and she felt him shudder.

 _I'm still so sorry_ , he told her, holding her close.

But now was not the time to be coddled. She pulled away, taking a step back.

"You want to leave to keep me safe," she echoed, feasting on all of the statement's bitter implications. "You think I can't take care of myself?"

"Of course I know you can," he said, though she felt intangibly insulted; he'd brushed it off too easily, almost like he was reassuring a child. "But you'd be safest somewhere else."

"And let me guess," she suggested, tapping her chin mockingly with her finger. "You don't think I'm safe _here_ , either?"

Something cold shadowed his face.

"I don't think you're safe anywhere," he told her, speaking slowly, careful to enunciate his meaning clearly. "And definitely not here."

There was a certainty to that statement that she couldn't ignore.

"Severus," she said, her voice a little shaky. "What is it that you know?"

* * *

Nothing. He knew nothing.

Couldn't she see that was _precisely_ the problem? All he had were suspicions, speculations, veiled threats and _gut feelings—_ none of which Severus cared to rely on.

"There's nothing to worry about."

A lie. She felt it, too; he knew she did. They knew each other too well not to know when the other was engaging in falsehood.

A pity, really, that it was just another sign he'd never be able to bother with another person. It would take far too much work to actually speak all of his thoughts aloud; better she already knew how to interpret them.

Even if it was highly inconvenient for the argument brewing at hand.

"You seem pretty worried for someone with nothing to worry about," Lily replied tersely.

 _Please,_ he pleaded. _Don't push this._

Her brow stitched together to the tiniest degree.

 _But_ —

"If I had something to tell you, I would tell you," he assured her.

Not true of course. Though, what would be the purpose of sharing his hypothesis?

 _I think Darian Mulciber might try something, and I'm not sure he can be trusted to even breathe the same air that you do. You remember him, I'm sure—Darian Mulciber? The person you told me was pure evil, who you warned me about from the start, and who I remained friends with because I was convinced you were overreacting? Because I thought it wasn't fair for you to blame him for his upbringing, for his beliefs? Because I thought he was harmless?_

 _Remember him? Remember the many ways I failed you—all before we even arrived at this moment?_

"I don't really care for the idea that you're now the judge of what I should or shouldn't know," Lily said carefully, and Severus winced, catching the telltale signs of her temper flaring. "I hardly think I need you to be my gatekeeper of information, Sev."

"You're overreacting," he noted, and then immediately regretted it. She stiffened, her green eyes flashing.

"Don't tell me how I feel," she snapped, and he swallowed, uncertain how to proceed. He'd never been good at expressing himself appropriately. Most of the time, of course, he and Lily were perfectly in sync.

And other times, he hadn't the faintest idea how to translate.

"I didn't mean it that way," he offered, attempting a statement she might understand.

 _Please_ , he begged her. _Please don't be upset._

"Then what _do_ you mean?" she countered, but he could feel her drifting further away from him in her frustration. It seemed she was closing herself off to her implicit understanding of how he worked; it happened, at times, when he had crossed a line.

Her lines were so difficult to see; he almost never knew when one had been crossed.

"I—" he hesitated. "I just meant—"

"Tell me everything," she interrupted, placing her hands on her hips. She was all fight now, entirely combatant, and it was the only version of her that he didn't know how to read. "Tell me everything, Severus, because you don't get to decide what I'm allowed to know."

"That's not what I'm saying," he said again, hearing the low growl in his voice and fighting to suppress it.

Now, at least, they were _both_ angry with him.

"You expect me to just drop everything, to wander away from the only world I've ever known, just to run away with you," she reminded him, and he flinched at the twisting of his words, at the horrifying contortion of his intent. "I would think that you could at least do me the favor of treating me like—" She paused, swallowing, rendered insufficiently eloquent by her agitation, "like an _equal!"_

"I am!" he insisted, though he wished he could just be quiet.

 _Let's take a step back_ , he begged, but she wasn't listening.

"I have friends, you know," she reminded him. "I have a family. I can't throw everyone away, Severus, you can't ask me to do that—"

 _I'm not, can't you see that's not what I'm saying? Can't you see how much I love you, what I would do for you? Why can't you make that sacrifice to keep yourself safe?_

 _Why can't you make that sacrifice for me?_

"I'm not, Lily, I promise you I'm _not_ —"

"Is this how it will be for us?" she asked again, and her tone had shifted, but it sounded more dangerous this time.

Pain, he realized. Not anger.

"Lily," he said, reaching for her. "Lily, please."

 _I love you._

The slightest, tiniest degree of softening; a flicker in her eyes, the fractional decrease of tension in her shoulders.

 _I love you, too._

Should he feel relief? _Could_ he feel relief?

He held his breath.

"I need to go," she said, and he nodded, the air turning frosty in his lungs.

* * *

Lily nearly sprinted through the castle, desperate to be alone, frantically seeking sanctuary in the comfort of her own space. She wanted to curl up in bed, to cry into her pillow, to take everything that was burning in her chest and turn it to bitter, angry sobs; to choke on her disappointment, somewhere that nobody would hold it against her.

She hurt him. She could see she had hurt him—but why was that her concern? Why was it _her_ fault that he couldn't seem to understand what he was doing? Why was _she_ the one to suffer?

She was _Lily Evans_. Lily Evans, Head Girl!

God, and didn't that mean absolutely _nothing_ all of a sudden?

She stomped up to the Venus, still fighting the onslaught of emotion she knew was raging, boiling out of control somewhere miles beyond her understanding.

"Sanare Pura," she said, her voice stiff and creaking under the weight of her distress.

The Venus looked at her, sniffing, and then looked away, combing her hair and shaking her curls as they blew in the wind.

"Come on," Lily seethed, gritting her teeth. "Not now, _please,_ don't do this right now—"

Now the Venus began humming to herself, the sound trilling with a pretentious vibrato.

"Sanare Pura," Lily repeated, trying to maintain control of her temper.

The Venus began to sing in Italian, her voice warbling through the air of the picturesque summer scene.

"Come _on_!" Lily shouted, hearing her voice break. "You can't be _serious_ —"

But nothing. No sympathy; only off-key operatic chaos—and then the dam that had been so tentatively reining in the force of her emotions broke, bursting free in a spectacular eruption.

 _I guess we're doing this_ , Lily thought hazily, sliding to the ground in the midst of an assault of silent tears, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her hands. Around her, the horrifying aria continued, the Venus positively gleeful in the catastrophic destruction of Lily's rapidly eroding facade.

Severus' face drifted into the space of her mind as Lily desperately hugged her knees to her chest, rocking slightly where she sat. She could read the disappointment clear as day, the accusations he'd never say out loud but so obviously felt— _Why are you doing this to us, Lily? Don't you love me, Lily?—_ and she'd had nothing to give him, no patience to soothe him, no capacity to slow things down and comfort him, like she knew she should.

She couldn't, of course. Not with things as they were; not with the connotation that would be implied by her softening, because then he would never _see_. He would never see what he was doing, the person he was making her, how _small_ he made her feel because he didn't seem to trust her. He was naturally an elitist; that was something she'd always understood. But he'd never made _her_ feel stupid before, and intentional or not, it wasn't something she was prepared to combat. She had never thought to prepare herself for the day that Severus would lump her into the masses of people who weren't worthy of his knowledge, or who weren't capable of making what he was always _so certain_ to be the right decision.

It wasn't really about him asking her to run away, though she knew that would be his focus when he inevitably replayed the entire conversation over and over in his mind, the master of overanalysis. He would pick apart the things she'd said, dissecting them like a puzzle, without ever understanding that the words were essentially empty. _Of course_ she understood he wanted to keep her safe. _Of course_ she knew he didn't want to tear her from her friends. _Of course_ she would leave with him, _be_ with him, and gladly, because _of course_ she loved him—would always love him.

But no, it wasn't that, was it? The one thing she wanted to say was the one thing he wouldn't hear, because she hadn't done it properly.

 _At the end of the day, Severus, you're still the only one you trust._

The portrait opened and Lily choked back a sob, looking up to catch the startled hazel eyes of James Potter, who was quite literally the last person she wanted to talk to.

 _Fuck._

"Evans," he ventured, his face paling. "What is this?"

* * *

She was crouched on the floor, weeping into her lap, and his brain buzzed with confusion. Crying women had never been his speciality.

Fine. _Women_ had never been his specialty.

"Nothing," she sniffed, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. "She—she won't let me in."

James stepped out into the hall, looking at the Venus. She was silent now, finally having ceased the incessant warbling that had been the reason James even stepped outside (he was trying to _study_ , after all, and this was utter madness) and he eyed her curiously.

"Being a bit unpleasant to Evans, are we?" he said.

The Venus blew him a kiss.

"Better if you don't," he mused carefully. "Head Girl, you know, that one," he clarified, gesturing to where Lily still sat on the floor. "Respected position, I'd say."

The Venus sighed, batting her lashes beatifically as she nodded at him.

"There," James proclaimed, turning to Lily with what he hoped was a comforting smile. "All fixed, then."

Lily's eyes widened, flashing with outrage.

"That's—you didn't—"

She was sputtering, incandescent with something he assumed had to be a horrifically misplaced rage—what had he done, after all? For once, this _had_ to be someone else's fault—and she came abruptly to her feet, clipping him with her shoulder as she stepped furiously into their common room.

She seemed somehow directionless upon arrival, though, rubbing furiously at her eyes and stumbling up the stairs, and much to his dismay, James found his insatiable curiosity was piqued.

"Evans," he said carefully, following her inside. "Are you—"

"What?" she snapped, turning to look at him. The red rims of her wide green eyes created a startling, not-entirely-unappealing contrast.

"Um." He paused, thinking. She couldn't be angry about school; it was Saturday, and he knew for a fact she'd done well in all her classes, and had already finished with her work. She'd seemed happy enough earlier in the day, he recalled, remembering she'd been humming to herself as she brushed her hair.

It certainly wasn't him, he thought, and probably not the portrait, either. Lily Evans wasn't much of a crier, he was fairly certain, so a little altercation wouldn't have been it; and in any case, she didn't care enough about either of them to cry.

Ah, though if it was a question of caring—

He felt momentarily sickened as the idea occurred to him that the one thing Lily Evans _did_ care about might actually be Severus Snape; the very thought was repulsive, and James opened his mouth, prepared to make a sharpened retort.

 _Not Snivellus, is it?_ he imagined sneering. _Surely you haven't let his greasy mug drag you down like this, have you, Evans?_

Would serve her right, wouldn't it?

"Well," he started, prepared to launch into a retort.

He hesitated. _She seems so sad, though._

He sighed, a weary resignation.

"Do you want some tea?" James asked, and was immediately forced to fend off a wave of self-loathing at how idiotic he must have sounded.

"Tea?" She blinked at him in confusion.

 _Fuck_ , he was crushingly stupid, wasn't he?

"Yes, tea," James repeated, fidgeting in place. "It's what my mum does when someone's upset," he offered, by way of explanation.

She said nothing, and he squinted at her. "You _are_ upset, right?"

She scowled. "I don't want your tea."

 _How fucking rude, Evans—_

He swallowed. _Be nice,_ he scolded himself, though it was Remus' voice he heard in his head at times like these. _She's been crying. She's sad. Be nice._

"Okay," James attempted, his voice an octave too high as he struggled to wield his patience. "Is there something else I can do for you, Ev- " he coughed. "Lily?"

Her face twisted alarmingly at the sound of her name. "What the fuck is happening right now?" she demanded, and he let his head loll back, helpless with confusion.

 _You fucking fool, James Potter,_ he thought viciously. _You royally insipid twat._

"I don't know!" he informed her, the confession leaving his mouth in a loud, half-shouted bark. "I'm just"—he paused, raising his shoulders in bewilderment as she watched him, brows furrowed—"I'm trying to fucking _help_ you, Evans, I don't _know_ —"

"You want to help me?"

She let out a vaguely demented laugh, a terrifying mismatch of reactions, and retreated down the stairs to face him. He had to stop himself from backing against a chair, determined as he was not to be intimidated by the tiny redhead before him (despite her obvious mania).

"You want to help me?" she repeated, and there was a glimmer in her eye, something hungry and expectant. "Fucking _fight_ with me, Potter." She laughed again, almost hysterically, and he gaped at her. "I don't want your tea, Potter, just— _fight me._ "

"Fucking hell, Evans," he exclaimed, the words spilling out before he could stop himself. "You are a wide awake _nightmare_!"

He paused in horror, wondering if he'd overstepped, but her laughter this time was exhilarated.

"You're an insufferable arse, James Potter!" she replied gleefully. "Thinking you've come to my rescue, and all because our stupid portrait has an absolutely _insane_ crush on you—"

"Oh, sure, because that's _my_ fault," he protested, glaring at her. "When really, I absolutely _did_ come to your rescue. You're welcome," he sniffed tartly, "not that you'd ever think of thanking me—"

"Thanking you? Oh, that's a _laugh_ ," she snapped.

He squinted at her. She did seem oddly better; the color had returned to her cheeks, and the subtly defeated bow of her shoulders had dissipated. _Joke's on you, Remus,_ he thought smugly, feeling an absurd sense of pride.

"You say that, and yet you're only here because I let you in," he reminded her, somewhat giddily. "Not to mention how _delightfully_ selfless I've been this whole time, by the way—"

"Oh, of course!" she laughed mockingly, mimicking him with a lofty strut. "James Potter, my fucking _white knight_ —"

"I didn't have to do anything," he reminded her. "I could have _easily_ stayed in here and not interfered, after all—"

"—and continued listening to her incessant yodeling? Doubtful," Lily declared, smirking distastefully. "There's no reason to pretend this has all been about me, Potter—"

"Well it obviously wasn't," he interjected, taking a step towards her. "After all, why would I waste my time on _you_ , Evans?"

Her breath caught, and he realized with abject horror how close he was to her, her face near his chest as she looked defiantly up at him and he unrelentingly down at her, both their eyes widening as they simultaneously calculated the distance between them.

Too far.

He'd gone too far, James corrected himself.

"Why would you, indeed," she said, her expression both softening and triggering an instinctive wall, her face abruptly going blank.

Whatever comfort she'd been able to take from their repartee was conclusively over. She backed away, turning as she reached the stairs and steadily retreating into her room.

"Well," James remarked aloud, wondering whether to laugh or break something. "That went well."

"You offered her tea," Remus commented later, as James wandered into their room ( _Remus'_ room, he reminded himself, shoving Sirius over to sprawl out on the bed) in search of understanding. "That was… unusual of you."

"It's what my mum does," James insisted defensively, punctuating the statement with a dramatic sigh. "I was trying to be understanding, you unfeeling dickheads."

"That's not what your mum does," Sirius corrected him, lazily turning the page of his book. "Your mum offers biscuits."

"Oh." James sat up. "Then who offers tea?"

"You, apparently," Remus replied, fighting a laugh.

* * *

Lily lay motionless on her bed, wondering if it were possible to set James Potter on fire with her mind.

 _Tea, honestly_ , she thought, rolling her eyes. Because _sure_ , crying women could be fixed with _tea._

Though, she _was_ unfairly grateful for the distraction, particularly as the crushing reality of her fight with Severus had now returned—and in full force, at that. What a shame, wasn't it, that she hadn't chosen to love someone like Sirius, whose bravado was really quite stomachable, and who wasn't entirely incapable of comprehending human emotion? Or Remus, who was possibly the most mature person she'd ever met, who would surely know better than to let her blather on without purpose, circling her real concerns?

Ah, well. Still, better Severus than James Potter, surely.

 _Tea,_ she thought again. _Ridiculous._

"Tea!" she said out loud, scoffing.

 _Honestly._

She shrugged the thought away, shoving James gracelessly out of her thoughts and returning to the injury she'd caused perhaps no more than an hour ago. It wasn't fair not to, she reminded herself. Severus would have no distraction, after all; he was a champion over-thinker, constantly trapped in his head—and it was _her fault_ that he had nobody to talk to, wasn't it?

Well, of course, he _could_ have managed to make friends with someone who wasn't potentially secretly homicidal, but that point was overwhelmingly moot.

She missed him fiercely now that she was calmer. She missed him with an unfurling ache now that she gloomily recognized that she'd probably cornered him in her frustration, pressuring him into a realm of emotion he didn't know how to transcribe. Missed him now that she wished she could step back into his arms and say she'd done it wrong, said it wrong, hadn't meant it to come off _quite like that._

 _Sorry_. Her least favorite word.

Though he wasn't entirely forgiven either, she reminded herself; firm, at least, in that. The problem itself wasn't imaginary, she'd just handled it badly. If he were another person, someone who'd been permitted the chance to learn to relate to others, she would have handled it fine; but he wasn't, and she knew that. She _knew_ that.

He'd have to trust her. He'd have to learn.

She'd have to teach him.

* * *

Severus sat alone in the library, listening to the sound of his quill scratching against parchment.

Nothing academic, of course.

 _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

He'd written it at least a dozen times.

She was right, wasn't she? Everything she'd said; he wasn't being smart about this. He wasn't being reasonable. He wasn't _convincing_ her, and surely that could only mean his logic was somehow flawed. But surely she wouldn't argue so vehemently if she knew what he knew?

 _Surely not._

Though, perhaps he could tell her.

He paused.

No, he couldn't tell her. What was there to tell?

 _Darian might be planning something._

 _Well,_ she'd say primly, nodding as she processed the possibilities, always quick to leap to action. _We should do something. I'll talk to Dumbledore._

 _How?_ Severus asked. _What proof could you offer him?_

She'd bristle at that. _Don't be silly—_

 _No, don't be rash, you need proof,_ he admonished Imaginary Lily. _You don't know who his father is, who his friends are. You can't accuse him and then chance it slipping through the cracks. You'll be in incredible danger if it does._

She'd sniff at that, a Gryffindor at heart. _Don't you think I can take care of myself?_

Oh, Lily.

 _Of course you can take care of yourself, but_ why _,_ he asked her, _why would I ever put you in that position?_

No, he couldn't tell her. She'd never understand. She didn't know who she was dealing with; didn't understand the kind of threat that people like Darian Mulciber and Caleb Avery could pose.

No, he couldn't tell her.

He sighed.

He'd have to protect her.


	8. The Request

**Chapter 8: The Request**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: three, the muggles traveling with them found dead. Transparency: solid as a wooden door. What's that: it's nothing, don't ask questions. Political climate: help us, help us, the wind blows a chill._

* * *

Severus kissed the back of her neck, sighing as he caught his breath; she, then, relaxed back against his chest, looking up at him with a thoroughly satiated smile.

Needless to say, the apology had gone well.

"So," she ventured, adjusting her skirt and turning to face him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "What else is new?"

He gave her that funny little signature expression of his; a pinched look of irritation, like he was exceedingly bored with his own lack of intrigue. "Nothing."

"Are you sure?" she murmured, adjusting his school tie and spreading her palms against his chest; felt it rise and fall under her touch, his breath in tune with her pulse. "There's nothing?"

He tipped her chin up, devouring her with a look, and kissed her. "Nothing," he said, though she pouted against his mouth.

"Severus—"

"Lily," he countered, pulling her in to sigh quietly in her ear. "I promise you. There's nothing."

She wanted to believe him. She truly, truly longed to believe him, and she _desperately_ wished to have the comfort of knowing that their hour long conversation (their back and forth of _I'm sorry I made you feel that way_ and _No, I'm sorry I wasn't clear, so sorry_ ) was somehow going to pay off, to be fruitful, revolutionary—the birth of a whole new level of intimacy, perhaps.

"You know," she attempted briskly, "you can trust me—"

"Of course I can trust you," he replied, too easily, as though this were exceedingly obvious. His dark eyes admonished her. _Silly Lily_ , they said. _Sweet, foolish Lily._ "That's never been a question."

"I mean that you can trust me with the truth," Lily clarified, her voice low and strained. _Don't yell, Lily, don't lose your temper, you've already done so well_. "I just want to make sure you know that you can tell me about the things that are bothering you." She reached up, smoothing the hair away from his face. "You don't have to protect me."

His face blanched a little at that. "Don't I?" he muttered. "Isn't that my job?"

 _No, Sev, your job is to love me, to treat me like an equal, I can take care of myself—_

"Sure," she sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. _Not another fight, please._

"What about you?" he asked. "Is everything going well with"—he swallowed, the name escaping through gritted teeth—"Potter?"

She grimaced. "It's—fine," she said tightly, trying not to think about the argument she'd had with him.

 _Fight me._ Was she insane?

 _Fucking tea._ No, _he_ was ridiculous.

They'd been mostly avoiding each other since.

"I really don't see him that often," she added, straightening. "We don't do rounds together or anything."

"Who do you do them with?" Severus asked her, awkwardly attempting in his endearing, asocial way to make conversation about her life. "Lupin?"

"Well, it changes," she reminded him. "Sometimes, yes. But I try to make an effort not to show favorites. For example," she abruptly remembered, fighting a groan, "I have to do them with Mulciber on Halloween. Apparently Potter is 'indisposed,' due to _who knows what—_ "

"What?" Severus snapped sharply, stiffening. He seemed to reflexively pull her closer, crushing her against his chest.

"Ouch," Lily grumbled, shifting her shoulders to loosen his grip around her. "A little room to breathe, Sev, please—"

"What did you say?" he pressed again, pulling back to look at her, and Lily rolled her eyes, realizing her mistake; if there was an antithesis to the concept of a magic word, it was surely _James Potter._

"Honestly, there's no need to be dramatic," Lily sighed. "Sure, it's irritating—Potter has a _job_ to do, after all—but it's not the worst thing, I don't mind doing it—"

"Not Potter," Severus said quickly (and surprisingly), waving away her concern with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Did you say you were doing rounds with Mulciber?"

"Yes," she confirmed, pursing her lips in confusion. "What's this about?" she asked, gesturing evasively to his posture; he suddenly looked a bit nervous and pale, as if he'd been folded in at the corners. "You're being distinctly weird."

"Nothing, I'm fine," he insisted hastily, though she had never believed him less. "I'm just surprised, you know, that you would want to be—" He stopped, stammering, like he was attempting to cobble together something cohesive, " _alone_ with him, I mean—"

She fought a smile at that. "Jealous, Sev?" she prompted, and he made a face.

"Of _course_ not—"

"What then, am I supposed to be frightened of him?" she asked, though admittedly, her throat went a little dry at the question. She was less convinced of Darian's innocence than she let on, but she was hardly going to let Severus know that. "I imagine Mulciber's had to have learned his lesson by now, hasn't he?" she pressed. "We're hardly children anymore—"

"Well," Severus said, his face pained. "What if—what if _I_ wanted to spend Halloween with you?" he suggested frantically, a glimmer appearing in his dark eyes to accompany whatever immeasurably flimsy idea had popped into his head. "Tell Potter to _do his job_ ," he added, snarling contemptuously for good measure, "and then you and I can—"

"It's Halloween, not Valentine's Day," Lily interrupted skeptically, shaking her head. "You can wait a day, Sev—can't you?"

He looked shaken up, and she couldn't imagine why. Darian made _her_ nervous, yes, but he was hardly anything to actually worry about, was he? There were a lot of darker things to fear than Darian Mulciber, certainly. Weren't there?

Surely he wouldn't threaten her? Attack her? While at _Hogwarts_ , during Prefect rounds?

 _Ridiculous._

(She hoped.)

"Sev," Lily said quickly, her hand snapping out instinctively to grip his wrist. "Sev, you're being strange," she informed him, trying to laugh it off. "I've done rounds with Mulciber before, you know."

Had she, though? She was straining to remember now.

"It's not about him," Severus assured her, though it was hardly a convincing attempt. "I just… "

He trailed off, lost in his thoughts, and she cocked her head to look at him, trying to grasp what might be going on in his mind.

"Nevermind," Severus determined with a sense of grim finality, as though he'd decided something for himself. "I'm—being foolish. I just didn't want you to have to spend more time with him than necessary," he explained, reaching a hand up to rest covetously against her jaw.

"Well, I'm certainly not looking forward to it," she agreed, leaning into his touch and fighting a strange, fluttering uncertainty in her chest. "But," she sighed, leaning in towards him, "are you sure there isn't something you need to say?"

He eyed her for a moment.

"I do have one thing," he said quietly, taking advantage of her uncertain pause to shove her roughly against the wall, her breath catching in her throat.

"Yes?" she gasped, feeling his fingers brush up her thigh.

"We have fifteen minutes left," he murmured in her ear.

* * *

Severus headed straight for the Prefect dorms, still in the process of tucking his shirt into his trousers as he raced up the stairs.

 _What are you doing, twatting around like an utter moron_ , he cursed himself, though his feet—alarmingly—continued to carry him in pursuit of the worst idea he'd ever had. _You witless fool, Severus Snape, you moronic loon, you've completely lost your mind—_

Even as he knocked on the door, he still contemplated turning around. _You brainless, doltish, cretinous twit—_

Even as Remus Lupin's face appeared in the doorway, he still considered taking off at a run. _You stupid, dim-witted, asinine—_

"Yes?" Remus prompted, his brow furrowed in unconcealed puzzlement.

"Lupin," Severus said tightly. _Severus Snape, you imbecilic fuck._

Remus peered around like he was looking for a joke, or waiting for someone to pop out and force the situation to become logical; Severus, for his part, grudgingly understood the compulsion.

"I need to talk to you," Severus muttered, his voice clipped.

"Uh," Remus permitted graciously. "Come in, I suppose?"

He opened the door and Severus ventured inside, just far enough for Remus to awkwardly force the door shut behind him.

"So," Remus ventured, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. It seemed present company had somehow led him to abandon his capacity to stand. "How are things?"

"For fuck's sake," Severus snapped sharply. "I'm clearly not here to chat."

"Well, marvelous," Remus muttered, scowling. "Maybe if you would do me the honor of providing _context_ to your visit, I might—"

"I need you to do something," Severus rushed out, trying to _just fucking say it_ before he lost his nerve, or worse, recovered his brain. "I need—" he sighed. "I need your help."

Remus made a strangled sound of disbelief. "Well, fuck me," he murmured to himself, looking up to meet Severus' glance. "What is it?"

"You can't tell anyone," Severus warned. " _No one_ , Lupin—is that clear?"

The other man eyed him warily.

"I sense that if you are here to ask a favor from me," Remus began slowly, crossing his arms over his chest, "I would be wise to consider the favor before agreeing to any terms."

Well, he was already in this mess, was he not? _Might as well commit,_ Severus thought uneasily.

"I need you to switch with Lil- with _Evans_ ," Severus said hastily, practically shoving the words off his tongue. "For Halloween," he clarified. "It's… "

He trailed off, and Remus tilted his head, waiting.

"It's what?" Remus prompted, frowning.

"It's important," Severus determined, crushing his fingernails into his palms as he battled his nerves and better judgment. "Crucially important."

" _Crucially_ important?" Remus echoed, raising a single sandy brow to offer Severus a partially mocking smirk. "You sound a bit like James."

Severus immediately bristled. "Don't compare me to Potter," he growled. "I just—"

"Well, it's only that there's a sense of drama to the whole thing, don't you think?" Remus cut in, leaning casually against his desk. "Something dire, and yet no explanation—"

"Look, can you do it or not?" Severus demanded impatiently, pinching the area between his brows in unmitigated frustration. "I don't have all day, Lupin, and unless you have to—"

He paused purposefully, looking up, and Remus swallowed carefully.

"No,"Remus admitted quietly. "Full moon was two weeks ago." He stirred a little, reminded of the question. "But I _do_ have plans for the evening, so—"

Severus fought a strangled groan. "Change them," he demanded. "Do not make the mistake of thinking I would be here if it were not considerably worth your time."

"Worth _my_ time?" Remus repeated skeptically. "You're going to have to work a bit harder than that to convince me, Snape." He eyed Severus closely; not unkindly, but he was clearly looking for evidence of deception. He would find none, of course, and Severus nearly grunted audibly in the immensity of his frustration.

"What is it that you want from me?" Severus managed tersely, gritting his teeth.

Remus eyed him silently for a moment.

"Surely you don't find it unreasonable for me to ask certain questions," Remus pressed crisply, still considering Severus with his mild-mannered nonchalance. "Why are you asking _me,_ for example, and not Lily?"

"I—"

Severus himself cut off, grimacing. "It's _my_ business—and I didn't come for an interrogation," he shot impatiently, though Remus shook his head.

"I'm just concerned," Remus clarified slowly, "that if there's something going on that's _this_ important to you, then maybe it's best if you would—"

Behind them, the door swung open, and Remus lurched abruptly to his feet as Severus whipped around to face the new arrival, his hand reaching instinctively for his wand. When the tall, broad-shouldered form of Sirius Black loped in through the doorway, Severus (who had only just prevented a frustrated groan) had to fight not to scream at the catastrophically timed intrusion.

"Sirius," Remus ventured instantly, his tone calm as ever. "If you wouldn't mind—"

"What's this?" Sirius interjected tightly, scowling at Severus.

Only then did Remus look uneasy.

"Snape needs… notes," Remus determined, nodding at Severus.

He was a poor excuse for a liar, and unfortunately, Sirius Black was not a fool.

"Or," Sirius proposed silkily, "as an alternative, you could tell me what you're _actually_ discussing."

His grey eyes drifted from Remus to Severus, his cheeks sucked in slightly as he narrowed his eyes; the perfect portrait of haughty displeasure.

 _Snivellus_ , Severus heard in his mind; saw Sirius' face twisting and taunting him. _Snivellus!_

"Notes," Severus confirmed glumly, suffering the weight of disappointment as it settled in the base of his stomach. "Potions."

Remus for his part, looked distressed. It was a beatific, merciful look of pain, like the expressions Severus had always witnessed as a child— _the parents fight, you know, the mother's not well, the father's cruel, poor thing, poor thing—_ and that was enough to do it.

Severus had never cared for pity.

"I can bring you the notes later," Remus suggested, his voice low. "Maybe in an hour or so?"

"No," Severus muttered. "I'll get them from someone else."

He looked up at Sirius, who was still blocking the doorway. For his part, Sirius Black's face bore a stunning ambivalence, a spectacular apathy. _You're not welcome here—get out_ , Sirius said, as transparently as if he'd shouted it; as though Severus had not already felt pained at his necessity for coming,

"I'm leaving," Severus informed him, glaring, and only then did Sirius move from his post, clipping shoulders with him as he strode into the room to stand by Remus.

Remus, then, looked as though he might say something; he inched forward like he might protest, but Severus let the door slam behind him, not bothering to look back.

 _You witless fuck,_ Severus reminded himself firmly, trying to reconcile himself with what had just happened. _You fucking fool._

Remus was out. That was a terrible idea, anyway, always had been; he could only hope Remus would keep it to himself, as exceedingly unlikely as that seemed. There was no one else to tell, and certainly no one else to come to; Severus would die a thousand painful deaths before turning to James Potter.

So what did that leave?

No one, as always. He'd have to take care of it himself.

* * *

James was sprawled over one of the oversized armchairs, his long legs draped over the side, and Lily was at the table at the far wall of the common room, making this one of the rare occasions during which they simultaneously occupied their shared space. He was surprised to see her, frankly; ever since their last encounter— _tea, you idiot, you offered her tea_ , he reminded himself, wincing a little as he suffered the embarrassment on a seemingly unending loop—she had said little. She'd said _nothing_ , actually, only choosing to spread her books and parchment on the table; which, to be fair, was considerably larger than their bedroom desks.

 _I was here first_ , he thought, preparing himself for an argument, _so I'm not going to move_ —but the argument never came. She seemed content to exist beside him in silence.

There was a clatter outside the entrance to their dorm and James lazily turned his head, waiting expectantly as the portrait swung open, revealing a slightly miffed Sirius and a vaguely apologetic Remus. They seemed to have been interrupted mid-argument.

Lover's quarrel, James supposed, smirking.

"What is this?" Lily demanded, looking up from her post.

"A diplomatic envoy," Sirius said loudly, stretching his arms overhead as he entered the room. He was a master of taking up space; of casually demanding dominion over it. "Lils, submit to search."

"Not funny," she groaned, but, as ever, Sirius was unaffected.

"Oi," James called, raising an arm to draw their attention to where he sat, refusing to budge. "Didn't know you were coming."

"We hadn't planned on it, but you have a very hospitable portrait," Remus noted. "She seemed rather pleased to see us."

Lily scoffed loudly.

"Best not to discuss the Venus," James warned, admonishing them lazily. "She and Evans are waging some kind of war that I don't understand."

"She's a menace," Lily sniffed. "Her sexism is deplorable."

"How do you know she's sexist?" James asked, lifting his head. "Maybe she just doesn't care for _you_."

"Ah, yes," Remus murmured quietly to him, coming over to place a hand on James' shoulder. "I see why you have been so successful in wooing the lady."

"Well she certainly doesn't like you for your sparkling _wit_ , Potter," Lily replied, snorting delicately. "So unless she has a penchant for your unending fuckery—"

"Whoa, Lils," Sirius drawled, walking over to drop gracelessly into the seat across from hers. " _Language,_ please, my virgin ears—"

"It's me," James called, by way of explanation. "I bring out the swears in Evans."

"It's true, he does," Lily admitted grimly. "I'm slowly being driven mad living with him, and losing all sense of how to be a lady."

"Sirius will run drills with you," Remus suggested, taking a seat near James. He and Sirius smirked at each other, now seemingly recovered from the tension that had plagued them at their entrance.

"Great," Lily declared wryly. "I'll be the belle of the ball, just like you."

"Not _just_ like me, Lils," Sirius sniffed. "Don't get carried away. This sort of mastery requires practice, a natural je nais se quoi, and a fair amount of blood sacrifice."

James turned to grin at Remus, taking pleasure in what he was sure was a classic Lily Evans eye roll taking place from the other side of the room.

"Where's Pete?" Lily asked, making a point to blatantly ignore Sirius' comment. "Have you forgotten him at home?"

"Ah, fuck, I knew I'd misplaced something," Sirius said, frowning into nothing. "Eh," he declared eventually, offering her a weakly ambivalent shrug. "He usually finds us."

"We'll see him for Halloween, anyway," James reminded Sirius, tipping his own head back over the chair to glance at his best friend.

Lily let out a hugely dramatic sigh. "What are you goons up to?" she demanded, standing up to maximize her ability to glare at James from a distance. "Whatever it is, I already don't like it."

"Oh, come on, Lils," Sirius insisted, tossing her his broody pout. "It's our last Halloween here."

"And?" she prompted, clearly missing the point. "I hope that doesn't mean you're going to pull any pranks again," she sighed. "I don't know that I'm in the mood to clean up after your shenanigans."

" _Hijinks_ ," they all corrected her in unison.

"And anyway, I can't exactly get up to much trouble, can I?" James reminded her. "Head Boy and all that."

"Oh, are you?" Lily asked, tapping her mouth with feigned confusion. "Apologies, I'd forgotten, seeing as—"

"— _I can barely be bothered to do my job_ ," James finished for her, mimicking her swotty tone. "I know, Evans. I listen."

"He is a great listener," Remus confirmed gravely.

Lily let out another exasperated sigh. "Can I get you all to leave, please?" she asked—rather impolitely, in James' view. "I'm trying to study. You know," she sniffed, " _Head Girl_ and all that."

"I hardly see why that's necessary, Evans," James snapped indignantly, sitting upright. "There's only one very small you, and three exceedingly muscled _us—_ "

"We'll go to James' room," Remus announced, and James was surprised to see Sirius rise to his feet as well, agreeing with a tacit nod.

"We will?" James echoed faintly.

"We will," Remus confirmed, with his stiff Professor Lupin nod.

James sighed. "Fine," he conceded gruffly, stretching as he came to his feet. He made his way to the stairs with as grand a procession as he could manage, leaving Remus and Sirius to follow in his wake. "But to be clear, we're only leaving because we want to, and not because you've made us," he told Lily pointedly, calling it over his shoulder; he looked down for a reaction, but she didn't give one, instead returning to her books.

"She is an _abomination_ ," James declared, falling back onto his bed as Remus shut the door behind them.

"Clearly," Sirius mused, nudging him over.

"I swear," James said loudly, "I don't know what I ever saw in her, really, seeing as—"

"So Snape came to see me," Remus interrupted, taking a seat in James' desk chair. "That's why we came."

"Is that what you two were all upset about?" James asked, immediately forgetting his complaints about Lily and sitting up to glance sharply between them. "Not running off with Snivellus, are you, Moony?"

"Why would you assume it was me?" Remus demanded indignantly. "It's just as likely Padfoot might have lost his mind—taken a blow to the head, perhaps—"

"Of course it's not me," Sirius returned gruffly. "As _you_ are the one who seems to feel he needs to be a fucking _saint_ all the time—"

"What should I have done that would've been more to your liking, then? Kick him out?" Remus retorted. "He clearly needed something, and I might have found out _what that was_ if you hadn't interr-"

"Stop," James cut in, pushing his glasses higher on his nose and making a firm slicing gesture between them. "Start over. Snape came to see you," he repeated, squinting at Remus. "Why?"

"He wanted me to switch with Lily for rounds on Halloween," Remus replied, and withered slightly. "He told me not to tell anyone," he lamented with a sigh, admonishing himself under his breath.

"Oh relax, Moony," Sirius snapped irritably. "That's like asking you not to tell someone that Slughorn's fucking McGonagall, or that, I don't know—blue is red now. You can hardly be blamed for sharing."

"Why, though?" James questioned, furrowing his brow in thought. "Why not just have Evans switch?"

"Well, therein lies the question, doesn't it?" Remus retorted, shooting Sirius another pointed look. "One that I might have gotten an answer to, by the way, if my guard dog here could have eased up for _five seconds_ to let me talk to him—"

"It's not like I did anything," Sirius protested.

"No, but you didn't have to, did you?" Remus pointed out. "You just stood there practically pissing all over the room, didn't you—"

James tuned them out, trying to recall the schedule.

"Evans is doing rounds with Mulciber on Halloween," James recalled, then frowned. "You don't think Snape was nervous about it, do you?"

Sirius shrugged. "What for? Mulciber is _his_ fucking mate." Another lofty shrug. "I don't see the issue."

 _True,_ James thought, going quiet as he considered it.

"Do we know for sure if there's something going on with Evans and Snivellus?" James posed after a moment, glancing between the other two.

"What does that matter?" Remus asked, though James noted that Sirius remained quiet, not meeting his questioning glance.

"Well, if they're"—James swallowed, making a face—"if they're _fucking_ , then wouldn't he know how she feels about Mulciber?"

"Which is _how_ , exactly?" Sirius prompted. "What are you getting at, Prongs?"

"Evans made a point to tell me she was worried about Mulciber at the start of term. She made a highly unnecessary fuss over it," he recalled, grimacing. "Something about me needing to prove my worth, or some other insanity—"

"Skipping over the bit in which your ego suffers," Sirius interjected, waving a hand. "Make your point, Prongs."

James stiffened for a moment at the slight, but quickly sighed. "Well, wouldn't Snape know that? Except she's Evans," he conceded with a groan, "so she wouldn't ever admit to it, so if he was asking _you_ for help—"

He paused, but Remus seemed to pick up on his intent.

"You think it might be a genuine concern?" Remus guessed, attempting to piece it together. "You think Snape might know something?"

"Well, if he does, I'm sure he would have tried a little harder," Sirius pointed out, yawning in his purposeful way; a means by which to indicate his imperious disinterest. "Snape is fucking _obsessed_ with Lils, isn't he?"

But James could hardly hear him.

"Should we be worried?" James asked, genuinely torn. "Really, Moony, tell me."

Remus stared into nothing for a moment, considering it.

"Maybe," he said slowly.

"Or, as an alternative," Sirius ventured, "maybe Snape suffered a blow to the head, you're both suffering an adorable, collective delusion, and everything is perfectly fine."

Also a valid point, James conceded.

"It isn't like Mulciber could get away with doing anything _in a school_ ," James commented, forcing a laugh at the thought. "Right?"

"Right," Remus agreed, his eyes flicking helplessly to Sirius.

"Oh, definitely," Sirius drawled, his tone as false as James had ever heard it. "Because what has Dumbledore ever done to make us worry about our safety?"

There was a brief pause as they considered it.

"It's not as if he let a dangerous werewolf and all his animal friends live here," James muttered.

They looked at each other.

"Maybe let's just keep an eye on her," Remus said tentatively.


	9. The Game

**Chapter 9: The Game**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: a pack of werewolves, a tribe misplaced. Apologies: withheld. Public works: walls and fences. Political climate: better to stare at the sun._

* * *

 _ **9:30 pm**_

Lily fidgeted next to Darian Mulciber, trying her best (and likely failing) to not look as nervous as she inexplicably felt. He, for his part, looked a little unsettled himself. He was being just as abnormally quiet as he'd been around her for the majority of the year, but he kept reaching up to fidget with his tie, his Prefect pin, his collar— _anything, really_ , she judged, frowning.

 _Only half an hour_ , she reminded herself. _Just a sweep through the castle and then back to our rooms. Just about half an hour._

Not that she really had much to worry about; Darian hadn't spoken a word, barely even glancing her way. They'd run into classmates who were heading off to bed, but he'd said nothing, given no indication of seeing them; almost like he'd looked right through them, his thoughts entirely elsewhere.

She took another glance at Darian, at the severity of his expression and the agitation of his fingers, and felt a familiar (albeit surprising, given the subject) compulsion flutter in her chest; the same inadvisable softness that compelled her to comfort a crying first year, or soothe a frazzled friend.

 _Saint Lily_ , Severus called her, and she fought a smile at the smile he would wear. _Always finding good in people._

Distinctly different from Petunia's assertion, of course. _You don't care, Lily!_ her sister had yelled, tearfully shoving her away. _You aren't kind, Lily, you're not nice—you just get off on everyone thinking you're perfect._

She bristled.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" she offered to Darian quietly, shoving aside her own unpleasantries in favor of his.

Darian's dark eyes, which had been staring absently out the window, now settled on hers with a jolt of surprise, like he'd momentarily forgotten she was there.

"I think you'll find you're overspending," he remarked in a low voice.

"Ah," she murmured, watching him bring his hand to his pin, straightening it for the hundredth time.

 _Don't pry, Lily._ She heard her mother's admonishment in her mind. _Don't be nosy—_

"Do you worry much about your soul, Evans?" Darian asked suddenly, masking a dry swallow.

She glanced at him sharply, feeling her eyes widen in disbelief. _He's said nothing for weeks, and now this?_

She couldn't put a finger on it—on what particular feature of the statement might have made her spine go rigid in alarm—but she felt uneasy at the words.

"No," she replied slowly, frowning. "Should I?"

* * *

 _ **9:35 pm**_

Severus walked quickly through the castle, trying to remember what Lily had told him about her Head Girl duties.

"Oh, it's basically the same thing every time," she'd mumbled indistinctly, her dainty brow furrowed as she dug through her school bag for something. "We start at the library, since that's usually where people are, if they're not in their common rooms yet—"

He raced up the stairs.

"—and then usually people know to be in bed," she'd continued, "so by curfew—"

"Ten?" he'd interrupted, confirming, and she'd glanced up at him, brushing a lock of auburn hair away from her face.

"You say that like you haven't lived here for almost seven years," she'd remarked, laughing a little and leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Yes, so—by ten o'clock, people are pretty much"—she paused, making a generic, sweeping gesture—" _somewhere_ within the four corners of the castle."

She'd turned back to her bag, still distracted.

"I assume they'd know better than to be in the middle of the castle," Severus had commented, trying desperately to be casual. "Away from the common rooms." _Which means that's where Darian would go,_ he very deliberately had not said, but made a point to remember.

"I assume so," she'd agreed, her pretty lips curling up in an affectionate smile. She'd paused then, giving him a brief, searching glance before shrugging it away, rejecting her suspicions.

"Thinking of breaking curfew, Sev?" she suggested, blessing him with a playful smirk.

He heard her little laugh in his mind and resolved to take off faster.

* * *

 _ **9:40 pm**_

"Got everything?" James asked, peering over into the common room from the doorway of his bedroom as the other three climbed through the portrait.

"Of course," Sirius called back, raising his schoolbag. "Undetectable extension charm."

"I still don't see why we had to resort to that," Remus sighed. "It's illegal, you know."

"Said the secret werewolf to his unregistered animagus friend," James commented regally, grinning as he descended the stairs.

"Where's Lily?" Peter chirped, looking around.

"Rounds," James supplied, then frowned. "We were keeping an eye on her, right?"

"I checked the map earlier," Remus assured him, falling back into one of the armchairs. "Seems fine."

James sniffed his disapproval, nudging his glasses further up on his nose. "I had envisioned something a little more—"

"Invasive?" Sirius prompted, settling himself on the floor at Remus' feet. "Should we chase after her, then, yelling something about rescuing her from our own imaginations?"

James offered him his most impatient scowl. "Where's the map?" he demanded, holding his hand out to Remus. "Give it."

"Wormtail's got it," Remus said lazily, glancing over as Sirius began to unload the contents of his bag.

James whipped around, presenting his expectant hand to Peter. "Map?"

"What do you say, Prongs?" Peter prompted, smirking.

" _Please_ give me the map," James groaned, and Peter complied, unfolding it and moving to stand by James.

"There," Peter said, pointing to her. "With Mulciber." He looked up, frowning. "Mulciber?"

"Right?" James exclaimed, though he didn't look up, still attempting to follow Evans' movements through the castle. "Hm."

"Hm what?" Remus pressed.

"This isn't Evans' usual route," James noted, watching her name as it traversed through the courtyard. "She's doing it backwards."

Remus looked up. "Let me see," he said, gesturing, and James moved over, pulling Peter with him.

"Hm," Remus agreed, frowning. "This isn't Mulciber's route either."

"How do you know?" James asked, conscious of the way his voice was just a _touch_ too high.

"I've been a Prefect two years longer than you've been Head Boy," Remus reminded him curtly. "I've done rounds with Mulciber before, and he takes the same route I do."

"I don't like this," James declared, shoving the map—and, by extension, Peter—away from him. "I don't know what's happening, but I don't like it."

"Go after her, then," Remus suggested, with an underlying hint of amusement in his tone that James did not appreciate. "It'll be just what your love story needs."

"Don't you fucking dare," Sirius snapped, suddenly joining the fray as he leapt to his feet, taking hold of James' shoulders. "This is my _last_ fucking Halloween here, Potter, and I'll be damned if I don't have my best mate here with me—"

"I'll go," Peter offered quietly, and they all shifted to look at him.

"You'll go?" James echoed.

"Sure," Peter agreed, his tone at an almost James-esque level of amiability. "Just to keep an eye on her, right?"

"Right," Remus instructed, nodding; James, for his part, was hesitant.

"Well," he began, "maybe I can just—"

"Wormtail's got it handled," Sirius reminded him firmly. "Right?" he promoted, turning to look sharply at Peter.

"I've got it," Peter assured them smoothly. "I can borrow the cloak, Prongs?"

James swallowed, still slightly uneasy.

"Sure," he agreed faintly, as Sirius clapped him on the back.

* * *

 _ **9:45 pm**_

"Thanks for agreeing to go this way," Lily commented. "I guess I should have assumed there'd be pranks on Halloween."

Darian took a brief reprieve from staring vacantly into space to glance at her, shrugging with neutral benevolence. "One bathroom with a dungbomb means there's usually another," he offered sagely, and they shared a conspiratorial eye roll, a look between seasoned Prefects who'd _seen it all_ , or so they imagined.

"True," she mused, nodding, and noted immediately that she had already lost his attention.

 _There was never anything to worry about_ , she reminded herself, letting her gaze travel over Darian's stiff profile as he repeatedly adjusted his collar. _You were always being foolish._

"Do you have any plans?" she asked cautiously. "You know, for—"

"We don't have to do this," he interrupted sharply, turning suddenly to look at her.

"I—" she stammered, taken aback. "I was just trying to—"

"There's no need for you to try to woo me, Evans," Darian said coolly, smoothing his hair back. He looked a little flushed—his shoulders ever so _slightly_ tensed—but she was distracted by the statement, feeling her cheeks burn at the implication. "In fact," he determined, as if the idea had just occurred to him, "I can take it from here."

"What?" she echoed blankly.

"Fuck, Evans, I'll never understand your appeal—just go home," he instructed, and despite the firmness of his tone, she was no less confused, watching his eyes flick nervously over her shoulder.

"We're not done," she reminded him, checking her watch. "There's fifteen minutes left, and then—"

"I'll do the rest of the castle," he cut in, and though it was technically an appealing offer, she did not feel particularly grateful for it. It was, in fact, such a jarring change from his earlier persona that she merely squinted at him, looking for the source of his sudden shift in mood.

"Um," she managed.

He jutted his chin out. "Take the big stairs," he suggested. "I'll finish up on this floor."

She frowned, eyeing him closely for any indication of disingenuity. It was an oddly unselfish gesture coming from him.

 _Suspiciously_ unselfish.

 _But,_ she sighed, watching him draw a hand up to straighten his Prefect pin yet again, _there was probably no harm in taking the offer._

"Okay," she agreed slowly, feeling a strange, warning chill run through her as she turned her back to leave.

* * *

 _ **9:50 pm**_

Darian waited until she was out of sight and then quickly spun on his heel, retracing his steps—or at least, the steps he would have taken if they'd gone her usual route.

 _How unfortunate_ , he remarked inwardly, still feeling a rush of nerves every few seconds that made him tug at his tie, struggling to free his airways. _How terribly inconvenient it would be, if someone were to have expected her to do something different._

He made it all the way to the trophy room before he saw him.

"Good evening, Severus," Darian said pleasantly, forcing a smile as the other man turned around.

 _How unfortunate, indeed._

* * *

 _ **9:52 p.m.**_

"Oh, Peter," Lily said breathlessly, clutching her chest as she rounded the corner into him. "Sorry, didn't see you there."

"No problem," he said cheerfully. "They're waiting for you in your room."

"Ugh, are they?" she echoed, making a face. "I wanted a quiet night."

Peter gave her an oddly consoling grimace. "Aim lower," he suggested.

She chuckled a little at that. "Alright." She made for the dorm, then paused, glancing back at him. "You coming?" she prompted.

He looked hesitant, and she felt her brow furrow in confusion. It was a singularly rare occurrence when Peter Pettigrew wasn't rushing to follow his friends around.

 _What on earth was everyone on about?_ she wondered, recalling Darian's twitchy skittishness. It was about as out of character as Peter's quiet ambivalence.

"In a bit," he suggested. "Just have to run back for something first."

She thought for a minute to press him; but after the unsuccessful attempt with Darian Mulciber she merely gave a silent, inward sigh. "Suit yourself," she told him, then proceeded to make her way back to her room.

* * *

 _ **10:00 pm**_

The moment the portrait opened, James popped his head up to look.

"Wormtail?" he asked, straining to see the intrusion.

"No," he heard Lily say, and he turned to Remus, scowling.

"Well," Remus said in a low voice. "At least we know she's fine."

"What is this?" Lily demanded, stomping gracelessly into the common room. "Are you—" she looked down at them, sniffing the air, and then placed her hands crossly on her hips. "Are you _drinking,_ James Potter?"

He cocked his head at her, squinting. "No?"

"He means yes," Sirius clarified.

"Funnily enough, I'd worked that out for myself," Lily replied coolly, before returning the flames of her ire to James. " _This_ is what you were so busy doing that you couldn't be bothered?"

"Oh, don't blame him," Sirius assured her, rising to his feet and swaying slightly. "It's me. I wanted a night of fun." He reached his arm over her shoulder, kissing her soundly on top of her head. "Eh, Evans?"

James glanced quickly at Remus, who was watching delightedly; it seemed he was holding his breath, hoping for an explosion.

Sadly, Lily only sighed, throwing an arm lazily around Sirius' waist in a motion that caused James a moment of breathless confusion.

"Disappointing," Remus pronounced curtly, turning back to his drink.

"Going to have one, Lils?" Sirius offered, and she gave him another dainty little sigh, a prim indication of her weighty disapproval.

James paused abruptly at that. He had never seen Lily drink before, and imagined it to be a spectacular rarity; but she had not said no, and James found he was holding his breath again, waiting for her response.

"Fine," she permitted after a moment, a faint half-smile twitching at the corners of her lips, and James felt sure he experienced a moment of rapture.

* * *

 _ **10:05 pm**_

"You shouldn't be here, Severus," Darian drawled casually, though Severus thought he looked a bit unsettled. "Wouldn't want to be written up for being out past curfew, would you?"

"Where's Lily?" Severus asked instantly, glancing purposefully behind Darian.

"I have no idea why you think she'd be with me," Darian proposed silkily. "Unless there's something you'd like to tell me?" he prompted, his measured glance a little too informed for Severus' liking.

Severus lowered his wand, realizing his mistake.

"No," he insisted stubbornly. "I just—"

"Still not going to admit to it?" Darian lamented. "Poor thing. Lovestruck," he sighed, making a wistful gesture.

"Don't," Severus growled testily, striding forward to exit the darkened corridor. "If you're not with her, then—"

"Why would I be?" Darian asked, his tone dripping with a detestable false innocence as he followed. "Oh, Sev—surely this isn't some sort of _accusation_ —"

"Severus."

The voice was unfamiliar, and Severus paused, turning slowly at the source of his name.

"Yes?" he asked uncertainly, and promptly ducked as a spell flew at his head.

* * *

 _ **10:08 p.m.**_

" _Take a shot_ ," James chanted obnoxiously, and Sirius joined in, " _take a shot, take a goddamn shot—_ "

Remus tossed his glass back, pausing to accommodate a horrific shudder as it went down, then wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and joined them.

"— _if you can't take a shot like a Gryffindor can—_ "

They paused, looking expectantly at Lily, who sighed.

"Then you shouldn't have a goddamn shot in your hand," she concluded lamely, and they cheered as she raised the glass to her lips.

* * *

 _ **10:10 pm**_

"Stebbins," Severus gasped, leaping out of the way of a second curse. "What the—"

But Grant Stebbins was strangely transfixed, his eyes vaguely unfocused, and Severus watched his lips move as he cast another curse; it was Darian who sprang to action first, covering them both with what even Severus could admit was a fairly impressive _Protego_.

"Something's wrong," Severus managed, a little bit dazed. "Something—something has to be wrong, this can't be—"

"Need me to save you again, Sev?" Darian panted. "Or would you maybe consider getting in on this, seeing as—"

" _Expulso!"_

They leapt apart as Grant Stebbins aimed another curse at Severus' head, forcing Severus backwards and trapping him within the confines of the trophy room.

"Darian," Severus shouted, "what the _fuck—_ "

He could see from the doorway that Darian had entered the room after them, and Stebbins turned quickly, aiming a curse at Darian's chest.

" _Petrificus Totalus—"_

" _Locomotor Mortis!"_

Neither curse had been as successful as the casters intended, but both were momentarily winded; Darian was blown sideways by the ricocheting of Stebbins' curse off a nearby wall of picture frames, ducking to avoid the blow of shattered glass.

" _Geminio!"_

At Stebbins' curse, the objects in the trophy room began to multiply, cutting off their exit. Severus stumbled against a trophy case—which promptly became two trophy cases, and then _several_ , and then the trophies and medals themselves began spilling out until he felt he was swimming in them. Countless items crashed to the ground as Severus heard the unmistakable sound of Darian swearing loudly, attempting to struggle to his feet.

" _Crucio—"_

Severus paused—an Unforgivable. From _Grant Stebbins?_ Surely not—

"Severus," Darian shouted, struggling to climb over yet another multiplying trophy case, "fucking _do something_!"

He looked around, panicked, but could see no way out; short of besting Stebbins, there would be no other exit.

 _I'm sorry, Lily,_ Severus thought briefly, savoring her name like a prayer, and aimed his wand at Stebbins.

" _Sectumsempra!"_ he yelled, and only then did Stebbins collapse to the floor, his veins bursting open as he fell.

* * *

 _ **10:12 p.m.**_

"You know," Lily said, feeling the burn of the liquid against her throat and squeezing her eyes shut, "this isn't exactly what I thought you idiots had in mind for tonight."

"Is that so?" James drawled obnoxiously. "Listen to that, Padfoot, we've not lost our mystique yet."

"Never," Sirius roared, lifting his glass. "Mystique forever!"

"Hush," Lily admonished them, pouring herself another glass of firewhisky—to drink _slowly_ , this time, she hoped, though it seemed unlikely. She was doing a distinctly catastrophic job of pacing herself. "You'll wake the whole house, Potter."

" _You'll_ wake the house, Evans," James sniffed.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, well done," she retorted, applauding him clumsily as some of the whisky spilled from the lip of her glass and sloshed onto her. "Expertly crafted retort, Lord Potter," she added, pausing to lick the excess alcohol from her hands.

"Hey," Remus mused, sitting up and grinning vacantly. "Where's Wormtail?"

"Such a gross nickname," Lily commented, wrinkling her nose. "What's wrong with Pete?"

"Nothing's wrong with Pete, how dare you," James declared, jabbing a finger into her shoulder. She lurched back for a moment, then returned, shoving her palm into his face and pushing him away as she turned her head for another drink.

"He said he had to fetch something," she told Remus, feeling her insides begin to warm.

"Oh." Remus smiled again. "Sad."

"Yes," Sirius declared, crawling from his post at James' side to fall against Remus, resting his head in his lap. "A tragedy to shame all others, that."

"You're drunk," Lily giggled, feeling the warmth in her stomach flutter up towards her head.

"Nah," Sirius replied, reaching a hand up to caress her cheek. "Sounds fake."

* * *

 _ **10:20 pm**_

"Did—did you fucking kill him?" Darian asked, white-faced as he approached them.

"No," Severus muttered, "no—no, no, there's a countercurse—"

He hadn't had to use it before; he tried to concentrate, tried to slow his thundering heartbeat.

" _Vulnera Sanentur_ ," he murmured, fighting the urge to retch. Blood on the floor, blood on his robes, _blood on his hands—_

He repeated the spell over and over, songlike in its repetition, until all of Grant Stebbins' blood had returned slowly to his body; save, of course, for that of it which remained on Severus, and which stained him, and would surely haunt him—

"What happened?" Darian asked, crouching next to him. "He was out for you, Sev."

"Impossible," Severus croaked. "Not him. He wouldn't."

"He clearly _did_ ," Darian pointed out, and upon glancing at him, Severus could see that he was genuinely shaken up.

"You had nothing to do with this," Severus ventured slowly. "You had nothing to do with this?"

"Of course not," Darian snapped, but there was something incongruous to the thoughtless ease of his defense. Severus intuitively raised his wand, pointing it at Darian.

"What happened here?" Severus gritted out, the words slipping between clenched teeth. "Why did he come for me?"

Darian's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed and unimpressed.

"Might want to lower that," he suggested coolly, gesturing to where Severus' wand was pointed at his chest. "Wouldn't want me to share the details of our encounter with your girlfriend, now would we?"

"So much for being my friend, then," Severus growled.

"I'm not _not_ your friend," Darian retorted, glaring at him. "In case it escaped your notice, you just nearly killed a man. Without any help from me," he added tightly.

Another wave of remorse hit Severus and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to forget what he had done. What he'd done, he realized shakily, that nobody would ever forgive.

What Lily would _never_ forgive.

"You swear it?" Severus whispered. "You swear this was not your doing?"

"You saw me, Sev," Darian reminded him. "You watched me this whole time. You know this wasn't me."

Severus looked pained. "But—but Lil- " he coughed. "Evans—"

"I have a job to do, Severus, and it's to recruit you," Darian said simply. "That's business. But any consequences you draw from this—" He waved to gesture to the body before them. "That's on you."

It was a harsh truth, and Severus flinched. _That's on you._

 _It's evil, Sev—I don't understand—_

Severus shoved her voice aside and bent to hastily check Stebbins' pulse. "He's alive," he said breathlessly, pausing to thank every deity he knew to name. "He'll be okay."

"What now, then?" Darian asked, standing abruptly. "What happens now?"

 _Surely you feel it, Sev—_

Severus closed his eyes, trying to force the chatter of his brain to cease.

 _Surely you know it doesn't feel like magic you're meant to use—_

"We obliviate him," he said slowly, letting his eyes flutter open. "Clean up this room. Clean everything up, wipe his memory, and then—"

 _People will get hurt, Sev—_

He swallowed. "And then leave him."

* * *

 _ **10:45 pm**_

"You can't tell her," Severus said, fidgeting as they walked. "You can't tell anyone."

 _There it is,_ Darian thought, sighing with satisfaction. _There's the opening._

"I wouldn't," he offered soothingly, gripping Severus' shoulder, and the other man nodded his relief. "That is," Darian amended, suppressing the perverseness of his pleasure as he slowly twisted the knife, "provided we are able to come to a sort of… understanding."

Severus stopped abruptly; he was a man who knew a threat when he heard it.

"What sort of understanding?" he asked, voice strained.

"The sort where I remain quiet on certain events," Darian proposed, "if you agree to be helpful when I require it."

"No," Severus said instantly, his face colorless with something Darian suspected might be anger; he was, after all, not a man who enjoyed being outsmarted. "No. I won't do it."

Darian made a face of languid disapproval. "Seems like you've already dug that hole," he remarked smartly, "so I'm not sure refusal is in your best interest."

Severus, wisely, fell silent. Darian might have felt sorry for him, but he couldn't.

He didn't have time.

It had been messy, after all; messier than he'd anticipated. Severus' method of choice was gory, and it hadn't been easy to clean. Darian was glad, at least, that he'd thought to cast a _Muffliato_ in the corridor, and again when he'd entered the trophy room. Saved him the trouble of witnesses, which would be one more trouble than he needed.

Particularly seeing as his job for the evening was not yet over.

* * *

 _ **11:00 pm**_

"Fuck, Evans," James grunted, flinging her arm over his shoulder and lifting her up to sit her on the sofa. "You're a real fucking lightweight."

"I—" she paused, hiccuping, "am not."

"You are," he informed her, though secretly, he was hardly that inconvenienced. "It's quite interesting, really," he mused, "finally seeing Head Girl herself be quite a disaster at something. It's like watching a unicorn in the wild."

"Rude." She squirmed, pulling away from him to sit up on her own. "I'm not a disaster," she admonished, reaching for his drink and taking a sip, ignoring his protest. "I'm a saint."

"A _saint_." He let out a loud, barking laugh, and Sirius and Remus looked up at him, squinting from where they were curled around each other on the floor. "You are hardly saintly, Evans."

"I'm more a saint than you," she reminded him, making a face. "You're a big bully, James Potter," she added, swaying a little. "You're a magnificent swine."

He paused, making a mental note of _magnificent_ , and then offered her his most aristocratic smirk.

"You bully me, Evans, in case you weren't aware," he told her. "And I let you get away with it," he continued, taking a long pull of his firewhisky as she watched him raise his glass to his lips, "because I am a gentleman."

"That's not why," she told him, and he chuckled.

"Why then?"

She looked stricken for a moment—hesitant, at least—and then leaned in to whisper, "Because you're just as shitty as I am," in his ear, the warmth of her voice spreading to a flush in his cheeks as she backed away with a giggle.

* * *

 _ **11:07 p.m.**_

Darian left Severus at the dungeons and quickly strode back to the trophy room, careful not to run; if anyone asked questions, his Prefect badge was answer enough, but there was no reason to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

He caught sight of the golden curls and swallowed hard, trying not to spend too long in the doorway worshipping the sight of him.

"Caleb," he said, managing an edge of impassiveness to the name despite the abominable confection of it on his tongue.

Caleb turned, smiling at him. "Darian," he said.

The body was gone from the floor.

"That was well executed," Darian commented drily. "I'm impressed."

"I'm handy with an _Imperius_ —and not too bad with transfiguration, either," Caleb added, grinning as he patted his schoolbag.

"Not too bad," Darian echoed. "Not bad at all."

"Nowhere near the caliber of your theatrics, of course," Caleb offered, pausing to stand near Darian.

Too close. _Far_ too close.

"I know how to do things," Darian agreed, anticipation catching in his chest.


	10. The Manipulation

**Chapter 10: The Manipulation**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: someone just out of reach, someone miles away; someone somebody else knows, but not me. Denial: steady. Magic: it's in our blood. Political climate: if nobody speaks, has anyone fallen?_

* * *

"A bone," Darian remarked after a beat, lips pursed in artfully crafted skepticism. "You transfigured him into a bone?"

"We'd agreed killing him would be too difficult, didn't we?" Caleb replied, kicking at a loose patch of dirt. "What did you think I was going to choose? A spoon?" he joked. "A pocket watch?"

Darian swallowed a rush of bile in his throat at the thought. Grant Stebbins as a fucking pocket watch, forced to tick by along with the rest of time…

He shuddered.

"This is easy for you," Darian commented grimly, shoving the thought aside.

Caleb looked up then, his eyes fixing carefully on Darian's. "It's not," he said quietly. "But we have a job to do. _Your_ job," he offered pointedly, and Darian felt a twinge of guilt at the reminder.

"I know that," he permitted gruffly, trying to disguise the shake in his voice. "I know, but—"

"Not too late to kill him if you'd rather," Caleb remarked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Though I would have thought you'd consider this a more… stomachable alternative."

"Mm," Darian agreed, nodding numbly. He was still staring at the spot where Grant Stebbins would go, not sure he trusted himself to speak.

"I take it you did not share the details of your assignment with Severus, then," Caleb postured slowly. "Did you happen to mention the rest of your"—he paused, waving his hand around—"obligations?"

"Of course I didn't," Darian scoffed. "He'll have to dig himself a little deeper—"

He broke off. _Digging holes_ was a bit too on-the-nose.

"I meant," Darian amended, pausing, "that I don't have enough leverage with him yet."

Caleb squinted questioningly at him. "But you will," he prompted, "right?"

"Oh, I certainly will," Darian agreed adamantly, though the thought brought on another labored swallow. "Frankly, I don't see how he wouldn't feel compelled by this," he added, staring at it again— _the spot where Grant Stebbins would go._

He could hardly breathe to think of it; of the possibility that such a thing would _not_ weigh on one's conscience.

Caleb's voice drew him out of his temporary paralysis. "What did you tell him?"

Darian looked over as Caleb's voice came out softer, gentler; he was clearly biding his time to make Darian comfortable. It made Darian feel weak for a moment; but then again, Caleb had always been the cooler head.

"Just that my job was to recruit him," Darian replied, thinking back to his conversation with Severus. "And that I might need something from him in the future."

"I imagine he'll find himself desperate to keep this from getting out," Caleb mused. "The real question being, of course," he drawled, " _how_ desperate?"

"Desperate enough," Darian supplied, grimacing. "Certainly desperate enough for the next one."

Caleb looked up sharply. "Are you thinking Evans next?"

Darian's stomach lurched. _Do you worry much about your soul, Evans?_

She'd looked rightfully horrified— _no, should I?—_ but only for a moment; she'd quickly wiped her expression clean of any telling signs. _Not particularly_ , she'd said, leaving about a minute's worth of silent buffer for her to give him a surprisingly honest answer. _Not when my corporeal state is so uncertain._

"She's a bit too high profile," Darian determined, after a moment's pause. "Head Girl and all that. Which is not to say no," he clarified hastily. "But—certainly not next."

Caleb chuckled a little. "I may be getting ahead of myself," he admitted. "Particularly seeing as we'll have to pull this off first," he added, gesturing to his bag.

"It is… pretty foolproof," Darian admitted, letting his eyes drop again to the area of loose dirt at the forest's opening. "No witnesses," he murmured, "no suspects—"

"And no body," Caleb reminded him firmly. "It'll just look like he ran away or something."

"Right." Darian fidgeted with the Prefect pin on his robes. "Right."

He tried to remember how gleeful he'd been when he first got the assignment. _Mudbloods. They're abominations. Wipe them out._

 _Too right,_ he'd thought wickedly, grinning with pleasure, _too true—_

But now he heard his watch tick and shuddered a second time.

"And," Caleb continued, seemingly failing to notice Darian's miniature but rapidly escalating panic attack, "even if Severus _were_ to tell someone—"

"He won't," Darian said sharply, a little irritated by the statement. He'd done his job, hadn't he? "There's no way he won't feel at least partially responsible, and there's certainly no chance that he's going to turn to anyone else."

"Not even Evans?" Caleb prompted.

Darian thought about the look on Severus' face, the fear in his dark eyes. _You can't tell her._

"Especially not Evans," Darian confirmed stiffly; though, all troubling things considered, he felt assured by the thought.

 _A foolproof plan,_ he reminded himself.

He pictured the Dark Lord's satisfaction. He pictured his father's approval. He pictured Caleb's—

He looked at Caleb.

Almost immediately, his breath came a little bit easier.

"Flawless, then," Caleb reminded him, an echo of his own thoughts. _Uncanny._

Caleb dropped his bag for a moment, turning Darian by the shoulders. "Flawlessly executed," he repeated, his strangely earnest gaze unyielding.

Darian tensed instinctively under Caleb's grip, his attention flicking to the other boy's lips. "Right," he murmured. "We did it, then."

"We did," Caleb agreed, releasing Darian (to his merciful relief, and utter despair) and bending to open his bag. "Almost."

Darian forced himself to look away. He didn't want to watch; he only felt he could breathe again when Caleb had finally stood, dusting off his hands and placing his hands on his hips. Satisfied.

"One less mudblood," Darian mumbled. _One more job done._ He thought of Severus' face, his wand in Darian's face. _One more life ruined._

Caleb took a step towards him and Darian felt his own spine go rigid, aware of Caleb's proximity; Caleb leaned forward, his hand gripping Darian's bicep, his lips next to his ear.

"Care for a drink?" he asked, and Darian closed his eyes, trying not to shiver at the sound of Caleb's voice; trying not to remember the rough sound of his breath in his ear, the gruffly uttered sound of _yes._

 _Like that. Darian—yes. Like that._

Darian stiffened. _No,_ he told himself firmly.

 _Stop_ , he told the rush of blood in his head. _How many people had been murdered by the Dark Lord for less?_ he reminded the thudding pulse in his veins. He raged against the weight in his belly, the need in his bones— _if you fucking get yourself caught—if anyone finds out—_

But he didn't listen. He never fucking listened.

"Just one," Darian whispered, fighting a whimper as the scruff on Caleb's cheek scraped against his jaw.

A lie. But if he tried hard enough, maybe he wouldn't remember it.

* * *

Lily giggled as Remus made a clever quip at James' expense; laughed harder still as Sirius raised his head from Remus' lap to playfully lick his face, presumably out of appreciation. James stiffened initially at the slight, but then relaxed, and Lily was glad of it, her shoulder dipping back as James' posture sank comfortably against the sofa.

Oh. She was leaning on him, wasn't she? If he'd noticed, he was being suspiciously cool about it, she thought, wondering if she should move. Ah, too late—she was comfortable. She let her head loll back and smiled, watching Remus' face scrunch into an undignified, goofy grin of adoration as Sirius pawed gracelessly at his mouth.

 _They're so happy_ , she thought wistfully, letting out a syrupy sigh of contentment. She wondered what Severus would think, watching them. Nothing quite so affectionate, of course, given the subjects of her observation, but she wondered if Severus would even recognize happiness when he saw it.

 _Happy_ , she'd asked. _Are you not happy now?_

 _I think if you can teach me, I'll learn,_ he'd said, and she'd thought, _my god, you poor thing, that you would need to_ learn _._

She closed her eyes, thinking of Severus. Was it possible love could take so many different forms? _Be_ so many different things to different people? She thought about the way he looked at her, the stirring warmth she felt at the intensity of his gaze. Love—was it always meant to be so severe? Was she meant to be poeticized her whole life, or could it ever be something like this—something comfortable? Playful? She tried to imagine licking Severus' face.

She laughed a little at the thought of his look of indignation. _Maybe not._

"Something funny, Evans?" James murmured in her ear.

She shivered against her will, letting her shoulder twitch upwards to shove him away before forcing herself to sit upright.

"It's all funny," she proclaimed grandly, letting her arm sweep out to reference them. "You're all glorious idiots."

"And yet here you are," Sirius declared loudly, swaying as he sat up to properly admonish her, "debasing yourself with our incompetent fuckery."

"I should be taken out back and shot," she agreed, picking up her glass and taking another sip.

"Shot?" James echoed, confused. "More shots?"

"You," she said, rolling her eyes and squinting at him. "You, Lord Potter, are too wizardy to get it."

"I've never been 'too wizardy' before," he commented, looking hopelessly impressed with himself.

"I don't think it's a compliment," Remus pointed out, and Sirius hooked a finger to pull at his lip.

"Don't bother," Sirius warned loftily. "You know Prongs only hears what he wants to."

"What's that?" James asked, nudging Lily aside as he leaned forward to reach his own glass. "Didn't catch that last bit, Padfoot." Remus laughed; Sirius rolled his eyes.

"You're infuriating," Lily informed James once he'd settled back against the sofa. "I really don't know why they put up with you."

"You honestly think I'm the worst of the bunch, don't you?" he murmured, though his delicate ego seemed, for once, surprisingly unaffected. "But what was it you said? I'm just as 'shitty' as you are?"

"You are certainly quite shitty," she confirmed. "All this"—she waved a hand over him—" _bravado_. It's exasperating." She took a sip. "Tiresome," she murmured, the sound trapping itself in the glass.

"Tiring, maybe," James agreed, grinning. "But I'm given to understand you warm up to it once your stamina adjusts."

She scoffed at that. "I'm not here to train for that. If I didn't have to live with you," she reminded him, "I certainly wouldn't choose it."

"Nor would I," he agreed, and she felt a slight pang at how easily he'd said it—though she shoved the feeling aside to scoff a second time.

"Bollocks," she declared. "Lies."

"Truths," he countered. "Hard truths, Evans."

"Good," she grumbled falsely, still a bit miffed at the concept. "I'm glad we're both suffering, then."

For a moment they paused in silence; she fidgeted. So did he.

"So. Back to you being shitty," he offered.

She gave a loud, impatient sigh. "I was just saying things," she told him. "Didn't mean anything."

A lie. Not that James Potter would notice.

 _Though he might have,_ she thought, faintly concerned as he indulged a few moments' pause.

"I suppose not," James permitted eventually, and she let out the breath she deeply wished she hadn't been holding. "You are indecently intoxicated, after all." He nudged her again. "Head Lightweight."

"Head Dickhead," she countered, and he laughed.

"Ah," he mused, "so you've heard of me."

She felt warm and comfortable. Suspiciously warm, and altogether too comfortable; she realized his arm had draped itself over her shoulder, and she had curled up snugly against his chest.

 _Nope,_ sober Lily informed her. _Nope, nope, nope—_

"I should go to bed," she announced instantly, launching to her feet and ignoring Sirius and Remus as they booed in protest. She swayed a little, stumbling; James caught her, grabbing her waist to steady her before forcing her upright.

She gritted her teeth in frustration. _Fucking Potter._

"Maybe I should help you," he suggested.

* * *

Darian stumbled backwards until the backs of his legs knocked against a trophy case. _If you're so nervous,_ Caleb had said, taking another swig from his flask, _maybe we should go back there. See to it there are no loose ends._

 _If you're so nervous,_ he'd repeated, but his eyes were already on Darian's mouth.

That fucker. He just wanted to feel like a winner when he won.

Veritaserum might show that Darian had started it (short of that, though, it wouldn't cross his mind to confess) but it was Caleb who was relentless, all hands and tongue and teeth, and Darian was swept up in it, his mind blissfully blank except for one thing— _one thing,_ and he was so close—

"My room," he panted, gripping Caleb's hair to yank his head back, meeting his eyes with a breathless smirk.

He'd fucked women before. Girls, really. They didn't know what to do with themselves. Knew even less what to do with him. It was all dainty mews and contented sighs, and he was always holding back, always afraid to go too fast, to push too hard, like he might break them with his cock—but it wasn't like that with Caleb. It was hard and rough and mean. It was fire and friction. Fury and flight.

"No," Caleb muttered gruffly, tearing Darian's lip with his teeth. "Here."

Darian looked around the trophy room, dazed, half drunk, fucking _ready_ —

"But—"

"It's Halloween," Caleb hissed in his ear, digging his fingers into Darian's hips, "and we just pulled off the perfect crime." He yanked Darian's tie from around his neck, tearing open his shirt and scraping his fingers against his chest. "I want to do this here," he insisted firmly, dropping his hand to cup Darian's cock outside his trousers. "I want to know the next time you think about what happened in this room, this"—he stroked it, and Darian let out a choked, sob-like gasp—"is what you're thinking about." He scraped his teeth along the side of Darian's neck. "Nothing else," he murmured.

Darian's better judgment, which sounded suspiciously like his father, murmured in his ear. _The Dark Lord has killed for less—_

But then Caleb's hands were on the button of his trousers; Caleb's teeth were on his zipper, his breath hot and wanting; and suddenly Darian's father stopped talking, blissful ignorance taking over to sigh through his veins.

Darian ran a hand over Caleb's head, gripping his hair. He would have thought less of a man getting down on his knees except that when Caleb did it, it was Darian at his mercy. It was Darian who was weak and undone, and he lacked the ability to process anything but the way Caleb's tongue felt, flicking lightly at his tip, curling under the head of his cock, licking up the shaft. _Fucking hell—_

Darian hissed his appreciation, tightening his grasp on Caleb's hair. Fuck, yeah, girls had done it, girls had sucked him off and it was fine. Overwhelmingly _fine_. He was a man, after all; he was going to enjoy putting his dick somewhere if it meant he could come at the end of it. But there was always a moment of tension, when he'd nudge them down lower and they'd give him a pretty little frown—a darling little _do I have to?—_ and he'd say _only if you want_ but they'd do it, do it just to prove they were cool, prove they were interesting—as if deigning to suck a man's dick even _did that_ —and he could only enjoy it so much. He could only relish the experience _so much_ , the warm mouths and lapping pink tongues, when he knew they were looking at his dick like some kind of chore.

Not so with Caleb. Caleb sucked his dick like he fucking _wanted_ to, like he loved it, like he'd been waiting all day for it; Darian pounded against his mouth and Caleb sucked at it with a fucking perversity, a fucking _greed_ , and he knew just what to do with it, too. He let out a little pop as he released Darian's cock, nudging Darian's legs apart to take a mouthful of his balls, returning to savor Darian's dick; he eased the full length of it into his mouth, pausing to swallow against the tip and causing Darian to choke as he came, spilling down Caleb's throat with his eyes forced shut.

" _Fuck_ , Caleb—"

He heard muffled laughter as Caleb licked him clean; felt a renewed thrill of exhilaration as Caleb reached for his own hard cock; a gentlemen's exchange. Darian opened his eyes, feeling a surge of hunger, and promptly choked a second time, catching a shadowy figure in the doorway.

"Hello," Peter Pettigrew said cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe. "Pardon the interruption, but I wondered—"

"What the fuck?" Darian gasped, shoving Caleb aside and leaping to tuck his now softening dick back into his trousers. "Are you fucking—"

"I'm not, actually," Peter supplied, "and now neither are you, which I suppose is my fault. Apologies," he murmured insincerely, his eyes an eerie glitter in the darkened room.

* * *

Severus lay awake, helplessly staring at the ceiling. He'd drawn the curtains around his four-poster bed, hoping to simulate solitude. It had _almost_ worked, _nearly_ convincing—but in the end, it really hadn't mattered. His pulse hadn't remotely slowed since he'd first seen Stebbins' face.

Stebbins was fine. He _would_ be fine, Severus corrected himself. What could be done about it, anyway? Stebbins hadn't been duelling for fun; Severus could hardly be blamed, really—self defense, after all—

 _Self defense?_

He groaned, covering his face. Imaginary Lily sat perched on the edge of his bed to admonish him, giving him her most authoritative glare.

 _Really, Sev? You're going to call severing a man's arteries 'self defense'?_

 _What would you have had me do?_ he pleaded with her. _What else could I have done, Lily?_

 _Stun,_ she suggested, enumerating a list on her fingers. _Paralyze, Disarm—_

He sighed his disagreement. _I was afraid for my life—_

 _Were you?_ she echoed skeptically, sparing him a look of dubious boredom. _And that makes that kind of curse okay?_

Severus hesitated. _He was going to—he would have—_

 _It was your choice what spell you hit him with_ , she snapped. _You told your wand what to do._

He couldn't argue with her; even if he wanted to, he could never make her _see._ He flipped over onto his side, doing everything he could to shut her out.

Imaginary Lily was harsh tonight. What would real Lily say, if she knew?

 _She can't know_ , he told himself, and he wondered again if it were some sort of prayer. _I'll make sure it's okay. I'll make it up to him, and she won't have to know._

 _I'll fix it, and she'll never have to know._

* * *

"In you go," James coaxed laughingly, nudging Lily forward into her room. She stumbled through the doorway, turning to jab a finger into his chest.

"I don't need help, James Potter," she snapped, though he quickly took hold of her arms as she swayed again, seemingly intent on falling. "You can—" She paused, pursing her lips and glaring at him. "You can fucking, just— _go._ "

"I'm practically out the door," he assured her flatly, walking her backwards and fighting a laugh as she collapsed back onto her bed. "Just making sure that—"

He trailed off, watching her. She had immediately curled up on her side with a small, feminine whimper that turned into a dreamy, blissful hum of contentment. He, meanwhile, permitted himself a mournful sigh, eyeing her shoes as her legs hung off the edge of the bed, her skirt twisted about, the crimson tie still loose around her neck…

"Hold on," he murmured, catching the sound of Sirius and Remus laughing boisterously downstairs; he nudged the door to drown them out before padding back to her, kneeling to remove her shoes. She gave him some kind of half-hearted assistance, raising each foot as he finished sliding them from her feet, and then rolled onto her back as he made to remove her tie, lifting her head only marginally as he slid it over the flowing mass of floral-scented anarchy that was her dark auburn hair.

"You need help changing?" he asked gruffly, looking around the room. She had a set of pajamas waiting patiently on her pillow; he grimaced, trying to imagine a world in which he was not unspeakably curious about the intermediate steps of getting her dressed. "You've seen me naked, anyway," he reminded her bluntly, fighting a surge of insecurity as her vacant expression promptly twisted into a jubilant laugh at his expense.

"I have," she agreed, her eyes fluttering open. She reached up, smacking the back of her hand against his abdomen. "Not bad, Potter," she asserted with a smirk, then closed her eyes again, sighing.

 _Not bad._ Why was he so thrilled with perhaps the world's least generous compliment?

"You're sure you want to sleep like this?" he asked, unable to fathom why he would be so anxious about her state of being. "Seems like it would be uncomfortable, or at the very least—"

"Stop trying to be nice, James Potter," Lily mumbled, cutting him off impatiently. "I already know you're not nice."

He let out a dramatic sigh, shoving her over to sit on the edge of her bed. "I know you're drunk," he informed her grimly, "but you should really decide what you want me to do." He looked at her, waiting for a telling change in expression that decidedly did not come. "Do you want me to be nice or not, Evans? I thought you wanted me _prove myself,_ or some nonsense like that—"

She swiped the palm of her hand messily over her face, twisting around to look at him. "What do you care what I think, James Potter?" she demanded, as he made a sincere effort not to be amused by her ceremonial usage of his full name for the exchange. "You shouldn't." She curled up again, hugging herself. "I'm terrible," she whispered.

He bristled at that.

"Is this a girl thing?" he asked loudly. "Saying you're terrible so that I'll tell you you're not?"

To his absurd relief, she huffed in irritation. "How dare you?" she accused, glaring at him. "I'm hardly that generic."

He sighed. "Then why are you—"

"I'm terrible because I'm _fake_ ," she declared, throwing a great deal of energy into the motion of forcing herself upright. "Everyone thinks I'm this nice, good-hearted—" She paused. " _Perfect_ person, and I just—"

James let out an obnoxious laugh at that. "You're not perfect, Evans," he assured her. "Believe me, I know."

She gasped; a mocking little gasp, so filled with drama that it nearly made him roll his eyes. "How very _rude—_ "

"What I mean," he insisted emphatically, "is that of course you're not perfect, Evans—who is?" She had the grace to look a bit sheepish at that. "I'm just saying you can be you, and people will accept you for it. Maybe even love you for it," he added, hoping it came off as innocently as he intended.

It must have, as she rolled right past it. "Hilarious, coming from you," she sniffed. "Why else would you be so showy and obnoxious, if not for the benefit of your audience?"

Godric, she was fully impossible. "Well, Evans, I don't have your winning qualities," he reminded her briskly. "Your tact, for example."

She looked for a moment like she might argue, but then she laughed; a happy, girlish laugh that made him momentarily more comfortable. "True. _But,_ " she conceded, softening, "you're not so bad either." She eyed him for a minute, making him feel supremely self-conscious; he immediately looked elsewhere, analyzing the wall behind her before turning his attention to his hands. "You shouldn't worry so much," she told him, resuming her fetal position on the bed.

Ah.

 _You're just as shitty as I am_ suddenly made a lot more sense, he realized.

"That was my line, Evans," James sighed after a moment, his lips quirking up in an unwilling smile. "You thieved it right out from under me."

He waited a moment before he looked at her, anticipating a snarky response, but nothing came. When he finally made the effort to glance at her, he noticed that her eyes were closed, a beatific expression of slumber painted across her face as if she had somehow drifted off magically, rather than by way of foolishly excessive intoxication.

"Fucking rude, Evans," James muttered, standing up to exit.

At the sound of his voice, he thought he saw her smile.

* * *

"What do you want?" Darian snarled, striding forward to bring himself face to face with Peter Pettigrew and staring the shorter boy down from his considerably heightened position. "What the fuck is this?"

"This, as you so rightly put it, is a happy accident," Peter replied, in such an apt imitation of Sirius Black that Darian had to fight the urge to slap him, "but it's about to be a negotiation." His eyes flicked to Caleb, who had risen to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm sure you know as well as I that what I just witnessed is not exactly… _favorable,_ for you."

Caleb made a rapid motion, reaching for his wand, and Peter quickly disarmed him, catching it as it soared into his right hand. Darian felt around for his own but emitted a strangled a noise of frustration as he realized Peter was currently stepping on it, his foot purposefully placed over where Darian had dropped it upon their entrance.

 _I did advise you otherwise,_ his father reminded him sullenly.

"It's nothing," Darian spat, trying desperately to depreciate Peter's leverage. "This is no different from Lupin and—" he flinched, nearly spitting out the name, " _Black—_ "

"Oh, but it is, isn't it?" Peter countered, tapping his mouth facetiously. "You're one of You-Know-Who's men now, aren't you?"

Caleb lunged forward. "How did you—"

"Nevermind that," Peter said, brushing him off. "Let's just say that I do know it, and I also know what would happen to you. To _both_ of you," he clarified, his eyes flicking between them, "if your fathers were to discover your preferences were somewhat—oh, I don't know. Unsavory?"

"You little rat," Caleb snarled furiously, stopping in his tracks. "How _dare_ you—"

"You know, I've heard that before—the rat thing," Peter remarked dully, pursing his lips in disapproval. "Coming from you, I really don't care for it."

"Hold on—assuming you've thought this through," Darian interrupted, cutting Caleb off before his temper got the better of him, "what do you propose to be the terms of this… negotiation?"

The word itself—the idea that Darian might be brought down by _Peter fucking Pettigrew,_ the fucking reigning dunce of Gryffindor—was enough to make him grind his teeth to dust in frustration.

"I want you to leave Lily alone," Peter said instantly. "I've seen you watching her, and I don't like it. Don't touch Lily," he warned again, as if the command might have been somehow confusing.

Caleb made a noise like he would argue, but Darian threw an arm out, cutting him off. "That's what you want?" he asked breathlessly, amazed by his luck; he was fighting not to laugh and say the words that rang through his mind— _that's_ fucking _it?_ "We don't touch Evans," Darian clarified, trying to make that conciliation sound hugely burdensome, "and then you're happy?"

"For now," Peter permitted silkily, and at that, Darian's pulse quickened, anxious again. "In the future, of course, I might require something. Some favor," he explained, and Darian thought again of a rat, rubbing its paws together in the corner, beady eyes glowing in the dark.

"Some unknown favor," Darian echoed, scoffing a little at the preposterousness of the offer, "and no Evans, and then this stays between us?"

"Correct," Peter agreed, nodding, and gave Darian a thoroughly irksome grin. "I'm not an unreasonable person, Mulciber."

"Swear on it," Caleb said, struggling out from Darian's hold. "Take the Vow. Swear it."

Peter shrugged. "I mean, if that makes you feel better—"

"I'm not fucking swearing on something I don't even know yet," Darian snapped at Caleb, turning to glare at him. "I'm certainly not betting my _life_ on it—"

"How about this," Peter cut in smoothly, and both Darian and Caleb's heads swiveled to look at him. "The favor that I eventually ask will benefit me, but will not harm either of you." His gaze leveled on Darian. "Deal?"

"Do it," Caleb hissed in Darian's ear. "Otherwise who knows—who knows what he's capable of—"

There was more Caleb wasn't saying out loud. _Be glad he doesn't know everything; be glad this is all he saw—_

"Fine," Darian snapped, shoving Caleb away and striding forward, thrusting his hand out as he gritted his teeth in frustration.

Had he really just been victorious only ten minutes ago? The perfect crime, and then a flawless near-undoing. It was so jarringly absurd that if it weren't a matter of his life falling apart, he might have laughed.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Peter offered genially, accepting Darian's grip; then, as easily as he had been there he went, teeth still flashing as he smiled.


	11. The Aftermath

**Chapter 11: The Aftermath**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: don't say a word. Magnanimous speeches: one. Ears: all. Political climate: if the problem can't be weathered, the solution must be seized._

* * *

"Mr Potter, Miss Evans," Dumbledore said cordially, nodding to each of them. "Thank you for coming in."

James nodded vacantly, watching Lily as she primly took her seat, seemingly riveted by the Headmaster's attention.

"Of course," Lily chimes instantly, her green eyes eager and bright. "How are you, sir?" she added, and James looked down at his lap, struggling not to make a face.

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm well, thank you, Miss Evans," he replied amiably, "and you? How was your Halloween?"

James choked down a snicker as her cheeks reddened; she'd spent the morning after retching in their shared bathroom, which _she knew_ he knew.

 _Not a word,_ she groaned threateningly from where she sat hunched over the toilet. _Nothing happened._

 _I know that,_ he replied gleefully, positively giddy at the sight.

"I was a bit… unwell," she admitted, and James let out a loud cough. "But quite recovered now," she amended, a slow smile (one that James, after several weeks in close proximity, had come to learn was almost entirely forced) spreading over her lips. "You called us in for something, sir? Not because of Potter, I hope," she added, glaring at him.

"Evans, it is barely 9 a.m.," James muttered. "Can you please contain your disapproval until the end of this meeting?"

"That depends," she replied sweetly, "did your—" she stopped, her eyes widening, and James grinned, knowing she was catching herself on the word _fuckery._ "Did you manage to be disappointing in the wee hours of the morning?"

"Ah, Miss Evans, Mr Potter," Dumbledore interrupted quickly, cutting off James as he opened his mouth to respond. "You're both doing fine."

Lily'' pained smile slipped slightly at that; at the implication that they were both doing _equally_ fine. James, catching the motion, was cheered.

"As it happens," Dumbledore continued, "I have called you both in on account of some rather unfortunate news." At the somber shift in the headmaster's tone, James looked up, eyeing him curiously. "My hope is that it amounts to nothing more than gossip among young people, of course," he added hesitantly, "but I'm afraid I must rely on you as my—shall we say, purveyors of truth."

James' gaze flicked to Lily and she glanced warily at him, both equally attuned to the developing seriousness of the meeting.

"Headmaster?" James prompted, as Lily leaned forward. "Did something happen?"

"Well, as there is no easy way to craft this, I suppose I shall just have to let the phrase exit as it will," Dumbledore said, grimacing. "It appears that Grant Stebbins of Ravenclaw House has been missing as of sometime on Halloween Eve."

Lily frowned. "Missing?" she echoed, glancing at James, who shrugged. "For four days?"

"He has failed to attend his classes," Dumbledore said hesitantly, "and if that were not sufficiently alarming, as you know as well as I Mr Stebbins' dedication to academia"— _understatement of the year,_ James thought, remembering how the git had been practically dragged away from his O.W.L.s—"it seems as though none of his friends or housemates have been able to locate him following his exit from the library on Halloween."

Dumbledore leaned forward, removing his spectacles and rubbing his eyes; James squinted at him, noting that the man seemed very tired indeed. "I only wondered," Dumbledore said after a moment, pronouncing a quick cleaning charm for his lenses and then replacing them carefully on the bridge of his nose, "whether one of you might have heard something."

He sat back at that, and James wondered if he were not secretly crossing his fingers under the desk.

"I had rounds on Halloween," Lily said slowly, looking lost in concentration. "With Mulciber. Neither of us saw him. Pot- er, I mean," she amended with a sigh, turning to him. "James?"

"I haven't seen Stebbins anywhere," James replied with a shrug. "I suppose I could easily ask around; perhaps one of the other Prefects has," he offered coolly, delicately not mentioning the magical map he had enchanted to reveal the whereabouts of everyone at the school.

"Yes, yes, that would be quite a favor to me," Dumbledore responded, though he seemed distinctly agitated. He opened his mouth to say something, and then promptly shut it, his expression hopelessly conflicted.

None of it sat well with James.

"Professor," James broached carefully, ignoring Lily's wary expression at the prospect of his interruption, "is there something you're not telling us about this?"

"Ah, Mr Potter, I always forget how well you read people," Dumbledore declared wryly. "Yes, yes," he said, half to himself. "I suppose there is more I could share. _Should_ share," he amended, looking sorrowfully at Lily.

 _Oh no,_ James thought instantly, his brow furrowed. _Grant Stebbins—his parents—_

"Mr Stebbins is, as you may be aware, of muggle descent," Dumbledore said slowly, confirming James' suspicions. "And given the times—"

"You can't possibly think something's happened to him," Lily gasped, her face paling. "Here? At Hogwarts?"

"I certainly don't want to nudge you towards any ill-begotten conclusions," Dumbledore offered hastily, "but facts being what they are, I do have to prepare for the likelihood that if something happened, I would have to take"—he paused, and James shook his head—"precautions."

"Precautions like what?" James asked, aware his voice was just an _edge_ too loud to be talking to a professor. "Are you trying to tell us that there's real danger here?" He jerked his head at his counterpart, whose fingers had tightened almost imperceptibly around the arms of her chair. "That Evans could be in real danger, even?"

"He isn't saying that," Lily said quickly, though she turned back to Dumbledore. "You're not, are you?"

"I'm certainly not saying that at this moment," Dumbledore sighed. "And believe me, I do hope this is all premature on my part."

"You don't look like you believe that," James said stiffly, and for a moment, he and the older man locked eyes.

"What Potter's trying to say," Lily cut in delicately, easing the bristling tension in the room, "is that it _does_ seem like you suspect foul play in this. Though, I agree," she added quickly, "it's best not to be too hasty."

"These are dangerous times," Dumbledore admitted, his gaze traveling from James' unyielding stare to Lily's' pleading one. "Times I regret that I could not have done more to prevent," he added wistfully, before straightening in his chair. "But as Head Boy and Head Girl of this school, it is your occupation to be aware of potential pitfalls afoot, and to do so discreetly."

Dumbledore's gaze flicked between them. "Am I clear?"

"Absolutely," Lily said at once, nodding reassuringly.

"Yes," James drawled insincerely, "we will be discreet in our vigilance." At that, Lily shot him a look of unfiltered irritation.

"Excellent," Dumbledore declared, unfazed, a spark of a smile returning to his expression. "Do let me know if you hear anything."

It was a kind but firm dismissal. They rose to leave, glaring perfunctorily at each other as they went, but before they reached the door, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Oh, and Mr Potter?"

James turned, offering a curtly respectful nod. "Yes, Headmaster?"

"Perhaps you might walk Miss Evans to class," Dumbledore suggested, and James had the sinking feeling it was about something more than chivalry.

* * *

"Ugh, I'm so glad you were able to get away," Lily sighed, plopping down next to Severus on the grass. She leaned over, kissing his cheek. "I've had the worst morning."

"You have?" Severus asked, surprised. "You seem fairly upbeat."

"I'm happy to see you," she said brightly, and it seemed like she was. "It's a relief, you know. Being around you for once, instead of all the other idiots at this school."

He couldn't help being pleased with that. She let him revel in it.

"What's going on?" he asked, draping his arm over her shoulders and burying his face in her hair. "Potter being difficult?"

"Difficult is Potter's permanent state of being," she sighed, "but no, it's just that a Prefect has gone missing, and nobody seems to know where he's gone, or even if we should be worried, and it's all just—" She paused, throwing her hands up. "A mess."

"Missing?" Severus echoed, frowning.

"Yes," she groaned, then turned, eyeing him curiously. "You haven't seen Stebbins anytime recently, have you?"

Time stopped.

He heard his own voice— _Stebbins!—_ and then he heard it again— _Sectumsempra!—_ and again— _you can't tell her, you can't tell anyone—_

"I—wh-" Severus stammered. "Why—"

"Well, you were partnered with him in Potions, but now that I think about it, that was weeks ago," she said, frowning, before making a careless gesture, waving the thought away. "Honestly, I like the guy, but I have the hardest time placing him."

Severus was breathing hard, picturing first the blood on the floor and then the hour he'd spent in the shower, scrubbing his hands clean like he might peel the skin right off—

"Are you okay?" Lily asked, reaching up to run a finger over his lips. "You look… strange."

"I'm—" Severus swallowed, trying to choke out the word _fine._ "Have you—did you meet with the other Prefects about this?" he asked desperately, clinging to any sort of normality he could muster. "Do they know?"

"Not yet. You wouldn't believe how difficult it was just to schedule a meeting," she muttered, with a transcendent scowl he regrettably couldn't bring himself to appreciate at the moment. "Honestly, I don't know _how_ many owls flew back and forth this morning—"

"The other Prefects," Severus prompted hastily, "do they know?" He didn't think he could ask the question without giving himself away: _Does Darian know?_

She squinted at him. He quickly looked away.

"You're quite sweaty," Lily noted, frowning. "Sev, what's going on?"

"Don't know," he panted, pulling at his tie and struggling to form words. "Hot, I guess—"

"Well, yeah," she said, grinning. "Kind of the idea, you know—"

She moved to place her hand suggestively on his chest and he scrambled away, rising to his feet.

"I just remembered," he half-shouted, "there's—something. A thing, I mean, that I—"

"Sev," Lily gasped, "what on earth—"

He kissed her forehead roughly and took off.

* * *

Darian hurriedly pressed his lips to Dahlia's neck, nudging her back against his bed.

"Don't tell my boyfriend," she whispered, as he quickly undid the buttons of her oxford.

"I have no interest in ever speaking to Parkinson," Darian grunted back, picking her up and and tossing her onto his duvet. "Break up with him," he advised, reaching under her skirt and yanking her knickers down her slender legs. "Seems best."

"For what? For _you_?" she gasped, as he dropped to his knees, pushing her back on the bed. "I might, if I ever thought you'd stop disappearing on me every couple of months."

"Not for me," he muttered against the skin of her thigh. "Do it because he's an inconsequential fuck"—he licked up her clit, prompting a moan—"and because you're deeply unsatisfied."

He lowered his hand to his dick; half hard, at best. It seemed satisfaction in general was hard to come by. He put some effort into the foreplay but it wasn't what he came for, he reminded himself, scowling as he brought his hand up to slip a finger inside her. He came to fuck his head right, and Dahlia had done it before. She would do it again.

He brought her to a first, audible climax and then she was breathlessly reaching for him. He kicked his trousers into the corner and her eyes traveled to his cock, eyeing it skeptically.

"Do—" she hesitated. "Do you want me to—?"

"If you want," he grunted gently, and she hesitantly dropped to her knees, eyeing his cock with determination and licking her lips tentatively.

He gripped her hair as she slowly let her tongue slide over his tip; he hissed his approval and gave her a faint nod, closing his eyes. He went instantly back to the darkened room, the glint of the trophies—fucking Caleb, the fucking trophies—his hands on the broadness of Caleb's shoulders, the utter gusto of Caleb's mouth on his dick, _fucking hell—_

"Get on the bed," Darian growled, pulling out from her mouth and raising her up by her arms. She moved to remove her skirt—he stopped her.

"No," he panted, suddenly desperate to be inside her. "Leave it on."

He was thrusting into her, his eyes on her pretty face, but his mind was elsewhere; even when she cried his name he only heard Caleb's voice, felt Caleb's skin. It was hard now, and fast, probably too hard and too fast but she was pretending to like it, and he was about to come, the festering anger at himself suddenly spilling over as she sunk her nails into his back, arching her pelvis against him—

He came with a strangled groan and fell against her just as the door burst open.

"Fuck," Darian snapped, lunging forward on his bed as she scrambled to hide behind him. " _What_ fucking _now_?"

"Have you heard?" Severus asked, his face ghostly pale. "Has anyone—"

Darian grimaced. He should have known this was coming.

"I have a guest, Severus," he warned tightly, the words escaping through gritted teeth. Severus, who was decidedly not an idiot, quickly nodded, backing towards the door.

"I'll wait," he said, running a hand through his hair and twitching with nerves. "Dahlia," he muttered, nodding to her without looking up, "congratulations on the engagement—"

Darian turned sharply. "You're fucking engaged now?"

She glanced down sulkily.

"Do you care?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.

He tried to think about it, but the only thing filling his mind was the relentless grin on Caleb's face.

"No," he admitted, then turned back to scowl at Severus. "And you. You can wait outside."

* * *

"What is it?" Darian snapped, letting the door slam shut behind him, and Severus glared at him.

"Are you telling me you haven't heard?" Severus seethed tightly, beginning to pace the hallway. "We shouldn't talk about it here," he realized, pausing. "In your room, maybe—"

"Well, I've got somewhere to be," Darian replied stiffly, glancing up as Remus Lupin's door opened; the haggard Gryffindor flashed them a curious glance, and Severus glared back. "Prefect meeting."

"Yes," Severus said emphatically, remembering the point, "and it's about a _missing Prefect."_ He glared meaningfully at Darian, hoping he grasped the implications.

Darian's lips twitched momentarily before a smooth, glassy layer of indifference glazed over his expression.

"So?" he asked. "If I remember correctly, and I do," he added, smirking, "last time I saw"—he paused, careful not to disrupt their facade as the rest of the Prefects made their way through the hall—" _whoever_ this is about—"

"Come on," Severus slid through gritted teeth. "Don't be coy, Darian, you know what this is about—"

"I actually fucking don't," Darian snapped, "considering I don't know anything about a missing person." The corridor was empty now, but he looked around before stepping in closer, his voice low near Severus' ear. "As memory serves, we left him very much _in_ the castle, and very much _alive_ ," Darian pronounces grimly. "If he's missing, that's not on my head."

Severus grunted inaudibly; what could he say to that?

"After all," Darian added, turning to exit the corridor, "I think you'll find I wasn't the one who cast the—" He paused, acting at innocence, " _Sectumsempra,_ was it?"

At Severus' blanched expression, Darian shrugged, evidently satisfied. "A useful tool," he determined facetiously, and then smiled. "Hope I don't have to use it on anyone of… similar circumstance."

Severus' stomach turned with revulsion. _Don't tell me that means what I think it means,_ he thought, recognizing a threat when he heard one and blinking away the image of Darian, his knife pointed at Lily's chest.

"Darian," Severus said helplessly, "you aren't—"

"No," Darian replied briskly, shaking his head. "I'm not."

He turned, about to walk away before glancing back, tossing his parting words carelessly over his shoulder.

"Not _yet_ , anyway," Darian murmured, and Severus felt a chill at the words.

* * *

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Lily said graciously, "it is—"

"—your fucking job to come when called," James cut in obnoxiously. "So ten out of ten for performance to you all."

" _As I was saying_ ," Lily continued tersely, pausing to flash him a glare of disapproval, "hopefully this won't take long, but there's a bit of a problem. It seems," she broached hesitantly, turning back to the group, "that Grant Stebbins hasn't been seen in a few days—"

"Has anyone checked his room? Or the library?" Rosier asked lazily.

"Being that we are not idiots, yes, we have checked," James snapped. "Pipe down, Rosier."

"It just seems a bit unreasonable for me to disrupt my day because somebody's lost a Ravenclaw," Rosier sniffed. "Mulciber's missing—should we schedule a meeting for him too?"

Lily rubbed her forehead, sighing. "Where is he?"

"He was talking to Snape in the hallway," Remus told her quietly. "I'm sure he's on his way."

Lily gave him an appreciative smile. "Thank you," she said, and then turned back to the group. "So, Stebbins? Anyone?"

"Saw him on Halloween," Abbott said, shrugging. "Not since."

The rest of the room nodded their agreement.

"Great," James said glumly. "Fantastic. Meeting adjourned."

"No, no, meeting _not_ adjourned—did anyone notice him having any problems?" Lily asked, pressing them. "Would he have run away? Could he have gone somewhere without telling anyone?"

Everyone grumbled incoherently in response.

"I'm sensing a pretty resounding no, Evans," James said, leaning over to mutter in her ear. "Just tell them to keep an eye out or something—"

The door opened and Darian breezed in, slightly out of breath.

"Sorry," he grunted. He did not look sorry in the slightest.

"Mulciber," Lily sighed impatiently, "have _you_ by any chance seen Stebbins?"

The remainder of the room turned, eyeing him as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ravenclaw Stebbins?" he asked, then shrugged. "No fucking clue."

* * *

"You checking the map, Wormtail?" James asked, nudging him. "See him yet?"

"I don't," Peter admitted, frowning. "He's definitely not in his room, or the library—"

"I fucking checked there," James snapped, "but a resounding debt of gratitude to everyone who finds me incapable of simple problem-solving."

"I don't see him," Peter offered resignedly. "Sorry, Prongs."

"Fuuuck," James declared slowly, huffing into the word. "Damn, I was sure that'd be an easy fix."

"You seem unusually concerned about this, Prongs," Remus remarked. "Not another unrequited love, is it?"

"I hate you," James said, pointing at him, "and in a similar vein, no." He sighed, fidgeting with his fingernails. "Dumbledore made a point to mention Stebbins is muggleborn."

The others stared at him.

"And?" Sirius prompted.

" _And_ he seemed pretty fucking nervous about it!" James retorted, scowling. "Muggleborns going missing? That's _got_ to reek of—"

"I don't know," Remus cut in skeptically. "Surely he would know if You-Know-Who had any sort of following at Hogwarts, wouldn't he?"

"He certainly has a following, Moony," Sirius snorted. "Dumbledore fucking put Prefect badges on them, too."

"Rosier, you mean?" James supplied. "Mulciber?"

Beside him, Peter went a bit pale; James frowned at the expression, but was quickly distracted by Sirius' exceptionally derisive scoff.

"Among others," Sirius confirmed darkly. "Easy enough to tell, isn't it? Look at their families."

"Look at _your_ family!" Remus countered, seemingly aghast at the judgment, and Sirius grunted a tacit _touché_. "Surely You-Know-Who wouldn't want some school-aged children running around doing his bidding, would he?"

"Maybe they're doing it of their own volition," James proposed, then made a face. "Though, fuck, that's bleak."

"It's _all_ bleak," Remus returned, clenching his fist; the next full moon was approaching, James recalled. He wasn't in his best shape.

"When did he go missing?" Peter interrupted quietly. "Stebbins, I mean."

"Halloween," James said flippantly. "Look—friends, Marauders, citizens of the world—should we talk about the werewolf registration thing? I know you both know it exists," he warned, glancing between Remus and Sirius, "and I know full well you're ignoring it—"

"Weren't you just worried about muggleborns?" Remus cut in, rolling his eyes. "What are you trying to do, Prongs? Save everyone?"

"Look, we're not going to be in this castle forever!" James reminded him brusquely, thumping a hand against the table for emphasis. "And if Dumbledore's genuinely afraid, then the real world is creeping in, and we're in danger."

"Not you," Sirius pointed out.

"No," James agreed, his eyes traveling to the door upstairs. "Not me."

* * *

"Are you going to be normal now?" Lily asked, sighing as she placed her arms lightly around Severus' neck. "You're being unusual twice in one day."

She was thinking of the words scrawled on the parchment— _I need to talk to you. Now._

"Well, you were, um," he fidgeted, not quite looking her in the eye. "Frustrated. This morning, I mean."

"Is this about me?" she asked dubiously, relaxing back in his arms. "I'm fine, you know. Just an ordinary level of inconvenienced," she grumbled, shrugging.

"Mm." He nodded, eyes still downcast. "How's it going?" he asked. "With Stebbins?"

"Nobody's seen him," Lily sighed. "Which is truly bizarre, I have to say, though I think some people are taking it more seriously than others." She thought of the flash in James' eyes, the worry on Dumbledore's face. "I can't say I know what to think."

"What do you mean?" Severus prompted, which she should have been prepared for, but wasn't. She paused, trying to piece her thoughts together.

"It has been brought to my attention that Stebbins is muggleborn," she said slowly, feeling a rush of apprehension at the term. "And," she added, feigning brightness, "as you may know, so am I."

"I'd heard a rumor," Severus said faintly, swallowing a little at the joke. "And it worries you?"

"I haven't decided," she said quickly. "It could just be coincidence, of course, but—" She grimaced. "You know as well as I do that things aren't exactly safe in the world."

"If you think something happened to him," Severus began, his gaze resolutely fixated somewhere around her clavicle, "are you worried about yourself?"

 _I always worry about myself, Sev, and isn't that the problem?_

"No," she lied, "I'm fine. I just hope nothing bad happened to him," she said defensively, taking a moment to silently wish that were true.

"Well, better him than you," Severus muttered under his breath.

"What?" Lily asked, startled.

"Nothing," Severus sighed, though when he finally looked at her, his gaze was sorrowful. Heavy. Like something was weighing on him.

"Sev," she whispered to him, "what are you not telling me?"

He was quiet for a moment. Her uneasiness festered.

"Nobody's seen him?" he asked, his voice tingling with urgency. "Nobody knows anything?"

"Nothing," she confirmed, shaking her head. "Isn't that strange? And a little bit tragic," she added sadly.

He looked lost in thought, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Severus?" she prompted gently.

"Unfortunate," he determined after a moment, nodding as he pulled her close. "That's the word I would use for it," he sighed. "A true absence of fortune."

 _Okay,_ Lily thought uncertainly, letting him fold her into a tight embrace. _If you say so._

* * *

"Mulciber," Peter called insistently, "I need to talk to you."

Darian stopped, pivoted on the spot, and stalked towards him, pressuring him into an alcove. "Do not speak to me," Darian muttered, his voice low and venomous. "Do you understand? Ever, without fail. Let that be a rule you live and die by—"

"I need to know something," Peter insisted stubbornly. "I need to know whether you and Avery had anything to do with the fact that Stebbins went missing on _Halloween—_ considering it was an eventful night for all three of us," he hissed purposefully, and Darian burned at the implication.

"You need to refine your extortion capabilities," Darian muttered. "You're bound not to discuss it, so unless you want to invoke your favor now—"

At Peter's hesitation, Darian nodded, coolly satisfied. "I thought as much," he remarked icily, turning to leave, and then paused. "Don't threaten me," he warned in a low voice, "don't fucking _threaten_ me, don't talk to me, and don't push your flimsy leverage." He thrust his shoulders back, bitterly final. "It was just a one-off."

The lie burned in his throat. He pushed it down.

"And nothing else happened that night," Peter suggested dully, his voice ringing with a markedly helpless skepticism.

"Correct," Darian pronounced, exiting the alcove at a near-sprint and colliding with someone as he turned the corner.

 _Ah,_ he thought, nearly growling with frustration. _Of course._

"Darian," Caleb offered, before offering him an infuriatingly enticing smile. Darian nodded back.

"Caleb," he said uncertainly. They had pointedly avoided each other since the events of Halloween, which was not outside their usual routine—but there was no telling how this interaction would play out.

"I understand you had some recreation this afternoon," Caleb ventured, the smile not fading from his face.

"I may have," Darian permitted, his voice clipped.

"Dahlia again?" Caleb prompted.

At that, Darian caught the hint of amusement in his voice, feeling a sudden _ahh_ at the purpose of the exchange. "Perhaps," he replied, gradually permitting a smirk.

"Did it work?" Caleb asked casually.

Darian hid a swallow. "No," he admitted, his shoulders stiffening at his own honesty. "It never fucking works," he added, looking up to suffer the full effect of Caleb's startlingly blue eyes.

"Damn," Caleb lamented, smiling. "Better luck next time."


	12. The Prize

**Chapter 12: The Prize**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: they're only rumors, friends; we must forget the murmurs of our trials. Eyes: shifting askance, who are you to stand beside me? Political climate: seek your own shelter, let no one else in._

* * *

"Sev," Lily whispered in his ear. "What's going on?"

It seemed she'd never get tired of asking.

"Nothing," he muttered back, but even he could hear the mechanical tone in his voice; the unconvincing rattle that echoed around in the space between them. "I keep telling you. I'm fine."

"And I continue to not believe you," she returned softly, sweeping her fingers across his lips. "You never had anything you couldn't tell me before, Sev." She propped her head up on her elbow, bringing her hand to her mouth in hesitation. "I'm not stupid, you know," she ventured after a moment, looking as though it irked her to remind him.

"I know you're not," Severus snapped, immediately flinching at the regrettable frustration that had crept in his voice. "I know you're not," he repeated, softening his tone. "It's not that."

She rolled away from him with a resigned sigh; at least she hadn't snapped back. Instead, she clasped her hands and rested them on her stomach, eyes closed. He didn't particularly like that either, Severus realized with a lurch. Her face was too perfect, her features too still; she looked lifeless and small, and it forced a wrench somewhere in his intestines. He reached over, gripping her fingers to pull her towards him.

"Lily," he murmured quietly, pressing his lips to her hands, "you have to believe me."

For a moment, she paused.

"I don't," she muttered eventually, crushing him in the briefest instant; but still, it wasn't a fight. It was perfunctory, a statement without much charge. He'd asked for her faith in him, and she'd given as much as she could: _I don't believe you, but I'm not going to leave._

He shivered, a naked exposure coursing through him. "This is a hard love, isn't it?" he asked, eyeing her. "Will it get harder?"

She would never lie to him.

"Maybe," she admitted. "But maybe it doesn't have to be so hard," she offered, returning to his side to slide her fingers warmly against his jaw.

In a moment, things had felt less desperate. He'd felt his pulse return to normal.

For a time, that is.

"Students," Slughorn announced, nudging Severus from his reverie. "Come now, attention please."

Beside Severus, the vacancy that should have been Grant Stebbins mocked him relentlessly, the chair tilted towards him like a solemnly pointed finger. He wondered if anyone else could see.

"Now then," Slughorn began, angling his mammoth belly so as to gesture to a potion before him. "Who can tell me what this is?"

Lily's hand was in the air from across the room, and Severus felt a pang of something; pride, he suspected. She had never feared ridicule, and it was her fearlessness that afforded her the type of openly brandished intellectualism that Severus had learned long ago to keep under tight concealment.

After all, it wasn't as if he didn't know the answer. The potion was splashing about within a small black cauldron; clearly far too small and too concentrated to be many other things. It was the color of molten gold, with large drops leaping like whimsical, conjured goldfish above the surface. _It's Felix Felicis,_ Severus thought with a dull certainty, just as he heard Lily speak.

"It's Felix Felicis, sir," she said, and Severus watched Darian's head slowly turn towards her voice.

"Quite so, quite so," Slughorn confirmed jovially, nodding his approval. "And what does it do, Miss Evans?"

"It's liquid luck," she supplied quickly. "It makes the drinker lucky."

"It does that," Slughorn confirmed with a nod, winking at her. "Ten points to Gryffindor for Miss Evans," he declared, and the flush of pleasure in her cheeks lit up the room. "Funny little potion, Felix Felicis—desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. I suspect, however, you can all grasp the benefits of luck, whether liquid or not!"

Severus stiffened at the concept, angling himself away from Stebbins' chair. _Unfortunate_ , he heard himself say. _A true absence of fortune._

"What's it for, sir?" Sirius drawled indifferently, making a show of nudging his dark hair from his eyes. "Surely not the assignment."

"O-ho, no," Slughorn chuckled, making a face. "A mess, that. No. A _prize_ , rather," he amended, his eyes glimmering in anticipation as he glanced expectantly around the room. "One bottle of Felix Felicis," he explained, holding up a small glass vial, "in exchange for the best potion in the room."

Severus watched James and Remus exchange glances, each challenging the other with a wicked grin so filled with misplaced hubris that Severus' instant reaction was a desperate desire to hex them both.

"I must warn you, of course, that Felix Felicis is banned from most organized competitions," Slughorn cautioned, "so what I offer you is but a single ordinary day. Or what would appear so," he said quickly, "but which would very quickly become extraordinary."

He smiled at Lily, whose eyes were bright with excitement. Severus doubted she needed the promise of a reward; Slughorn's praise would be prize enough for her. Severus, however, was in dire need of better luck. It would be worth it, he decided, bowing his head to consider. It would be worth the mocking to be the one to shine today, he determined, silently apologizing to her.

"So," Slughorn continued, his tone abruptly businesslike, "you will all have an hour to make an attempt at the Draught of Living Death"—Severus bit his tongue to keep from scoffing as James' face slightly paled—"which I'm aware is no easily accomplished feat, but certainly within reason for your skill level."

 _For a person_ with _a skill level,_ Severus thought, smirking at James Potter.

At Slughorn's amiable "off you go," Severus felt a rush of anticipation flood through him, turning eagerly to his textbook with the most optimism he had felt in days; weeks, even, if the darkened shadows under his eyes were to be believed. The instructions were rubbish, of course (any person with eyes could see that sopophorous beans were meant to be crushed, not cut—the grain of it _alone_ made it inconceivably obvious) and he scribbled some alternative instruction into the margin as he went, making note of techniques he had perfected over time. There was no _magic_ permitted outside of Hogwarts during the summers, true, but that hardly precluded his brain from working; Severus spent the majority of his time experimenting with ingredients, breaking down the physical elements of magic and reconstructing them, all without lifting his wand.

He suspected he was a far greater wizard than even Lily gave him credit for; not that he spared an instant of contempt over it. It wasn't her business to know what he did when he was trying to stay out of the house, nor was it her job to fuss over him, particularly not when the spells she had the unfortunate circumstance to witness—he felt a sharp jab in his chest at the memory of the _Levicorpus_ incident—were not particularly to her fancy.

But this, he thought, patiently collecting the juice of the sopophorous bean; this, at the very least, he could do. There was no resigning his guilty conscience, no coaxing Lily to see reason; no shaking of Darian's unnerving watch from his back.

But this. Potions— _stir counterclockwise,_ he read dubiously, proceeding to roll his eyes at the utter simplicity of the book's instruction and opting for an alternating pattern as he stirred—were his forte.

This he could certainly do, Severus thought with a vaguely comforted sigh, his glance occasionally catching the jubilant leap of the Felix Felicis; it winked suggestively from Slughorn's desk, the glint of it catching on the glow of Lily's hair.

Given the prize, he could do it.

* * *

"I tell you what, this sopophorous bean is a little fucker," James determined, stabbing gracelessly at it in a fit of misdirected annoyance as he caught sight of Severus' potion. "How is he doing that?"

"Perhaps he is focusing on his work and not mindlessly staring at people across the room," Remus proposed without looking up, his forehead creased in concentration as he continued to add ingredients.

James made a face. "That can't be it," he muttered, letting the knife clatter on the counter with an exasperated sigh. "And also, I'm not staring."

"Prongs," Remus exhaled warningly.

"I'm just finding it difficult to believe that _he_ is managing this," James insisted grumpily, staring down at the bean. "Enough of this dickery," he muttered to it. "Let yourself be cut!"

"He's not stupid, you know," Remus pointed out, now patiently setting his own knife down. "You should give him more credit."

"I will not," James pronounced, aghast. "How dare you?"

"I've been wondering if something is going on with him," Remus admitted quietly, finally glancing up. "It's occurring to me that his concern about Lily might be related to—" He paused, grimacing. "Or maybe not," he decided eventually, returning his attention to his potion.

"Oh, excellent," James growled. "Thank you for the privilege of your confidence, Moony, I'm ever so _informed—_ "

"The timing, Prongs," Remus pressed. "Doesn't it strike you as curious?"

"Does _Snape_ strike me as curious?" James returned haughtily. "I should think you would know the answer to that."

Remus arched a blatantly doubtful brow. "Prongs," he began slowly, "is it possible you're overreacting?"

"No!" James insisted, but softened after a weary eye roll from Remus. "Fine," he grunted in resignation. "Fine, tell me, then. What's your issue with the timing?"

"He came to me for help, Prongs," Remus reminded him. " _Me._ That can't have been easy. There must have been _something_."

"So talk to him again," James suggested ambivalently, shrugging. "Right?"

"I doubt he'd be open to it," Remus lamented, his mouth twitching into a regretful grimace.

"He's probably fine," James decided carelessly, though even as he said the words, he noticed for the first time how exhausted Severus seemed to look; his skin, already naturally greasy and pale, was chalky, and violet shadows marred the landscape beneath his murky, hooded eyes.

At that precise moment, Severus looked up, catching James' stare; the two glared reproachfully at each other before looking down at their respective potions.

"He's definitely fucking _fine_ ," James spat impatiently, picturing him with Lily and feeling a revulsion he scarcely had an outlet for. He instinctively gripped the counter, reacting to a vigorous wave of loathing that he was surprised to find was suddenly directed at himself, and at his potion—which was still several shades darker than Severus Snape's. "I wouldn't concern myself with him."

"You wouldn't?" Remus prompted drily, suppressing a wry chuckle.

"Shut up," muttered James, who aimed at the sopophorous bean and promptly yelped as it gleefully evaded his knife, mocking him with a bounce off the table.

* * *

"How's it going?" Sirius broached casually, looking over at her cauldron.

"Oh, horribly, of course," Lily growled, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "How's yours?" she asked, gesturing across the table with a frown. "What are you even doing?"

"Cheating, of course. Not that it's doing me any good," he added, lifting a dubious brow at her draught. "How am I supposed to improve if you're not going to perform at least"—he sniffed—" _three times_ better than this?"

"Oh, do shut up," Lily invited tartly, sparing him a withering glare _._ "I didn't realize that these instructions would be so limiting, for one thing, and for another—"

"Relax, Evans, mine's obviously rubbish," Sirius assured her, chuckling. "At least yours is sort of… _almost_ lilac," he noted optimistically, glancing over at it. "Right?"

"Only if you're colorblind," she muttered back. "Anyway, I've figured it out now; you just have to _crush_ the sopophorous bean, not _cut_ it—"

"Lils, there's barely twenty minutes left. _And_ you're already losing to Snape," he pointed out, his face showing the precise degree of contempt he felt as he gestured to the table at the back of the room.

She stood on tiptoe to see. "Ah, rats," she sighed, shoving aside the slight nudge of resentment in her chest as she noted the pale tint of Severus' potion with a grimace. Her own was nowhere near as light.

"Might as well slack off with me," Sirius joked, now only lazily stirring his potion. "Besides, what do you need luck for, anyway?"

"Nothing, I guess," she replied with a shrug, trying to fight the image of Severus being the one to receive Slughorn's jubilant crow of approval. Not that she would ever begrudge him his successes, of course; she was just unhealthily fond of being the best at things. "He probably needs it more than I do," she added sulkily, before looking up to catch Sirius squinting oddly at her. "What?"

"Trouble in paradise?" he prodded, giving her arm a juvenile nudge.

"Sirius!" she exclaimed, glancing around to be sure nobody had overheard before turning back to glare at him, displeased. "I hardly think this is the appropriate time or place—"

He lazily flicked his wand, muttering a brief _Muffliato_. "Oh, look at that," he declared as the spell settled over them. "Time _and_ place, Lils."

She rolled her eyes, reaching for her wand to prompt the potion to stir. "I'm working at the moment," she informed him primly, "so you could at least _pretend—_ "

"Try stirring once clockwise," he interrupted, looking over her cauldron. "Maybe alternate?"

"Hm," Lily said, biting her lip in thought. "Yes, maybe that could h-"

"In exchange," Sirius cut in devilishly, " _maybe_ you can answer the question."

Lily added a clockwise stir and waited; the potion seemed to settle, the color slightly paling, and she thought to try again. "About what?" she prompted. "Sev- oh, rats," she declared, as the second clockwise stir returned the potion to a deep, ominous violet. "I suppose the book says counterclockwise for a reason."

"I said _alternate,_ " Sirius reminded her brusquely. "And yes, about Snape."

"Alternating won't work," she muttered vacantly, "maybe in a rotation—"

"Lils," Sirius sighed, "you're already _losing_ , so I would think—"

"What's got you so curious all of a sudden?" Lily asked, attempting a pattern of seven. _Magical significance,_ she reasoned with a shrug, glancing up to recognize that Severus was still miles ahead of her. "Since when do you care?"

"I worry about you," Sirius said with a shrug. "You seem tense."

"Well, then tell Potter to be less… Potter-ish," she murmured distractedly, nodding her approval towards the cauldron as the potion began to lighten. "I'm sure I'd sleep better at night if he could manage it."

"You're needlessly hard on him, you know," Sirius commented, lazily beginning to mimic her stirring pattern on his own potion. "He was more concerned about you than anyone after Stebbins went missing."

"He was not," Lily countered, sparing a moment to express her not-insignificant disagreement. "He was barely taking it seriously. Ask Remus, he was at the meeting," she added, infuriated all over again at the thought. "All Potter had to contribute was—"

"Our dear James is, as some might say, a bit of a fucking idiot," Sirius assured her, cutting her off with a knowing head shake. "I am given to understand there is some arguable disconnect between his intentions and his words."

"And actions, evidently," Lily postured wryly, "and facial expressions, and overall existence—"

"James is a bit of a floundering menace, yes," Sirius summarized with a nod. "Ah, fuck me," he exclaimed, glancing down at his potion. "I have produced lilac," he declared, his arm sweeping triumphantly through the air with a somewhat unmerited smugness.

"Yes," Lily noted, tilting her chin to eye his potion approvingly, which was now nearly as pale as her own. "Looks like you're not entirely useless."

He sniffed smugly. "Useless, hm?" he mused skeptically. "Was that ever a suspicion? You should see what I can do with my—"

"Don't," Lily cut in warningly, making a face, and Sirius laughed.

"So," he ventured, continuing the stirring process, "as you were saying—"

"What was I saying?" she prompted dubiously, skimming the text for the thousandth time and wondering what on earth she was missing. "Nothing, as I recall."

"You were telling me about the love affair of the century," Sirius proclaimed grandly, "otherwise known as you and Snape—"

"I really don't want to talk about it," Lily sighed, her eyes flicking to where Severus stood, his dark head bent over his potion.

"That bad, is it? I mean I had of course assumed, but you know me," he drawled, dodging her as she swatted at his wrist, "nothing if not entirely neutral and supportive."

"Certainly not," Lily snorted gracelessly. "Definitely not nosy and given to fits of prying—"

"That doesn't sound like me at all," he sniffed, and she let out a reluctant laugh, though it quickly faded as the subject of conversation looked up, exhaustion on his face seeming more stark than ever.

There was certainly a piece of her that wanted to admit her concerns, Lily realized, watching Severus duck his head in concentration, focused again on his potion. There was some disloyalty involved on Lily's behalf knowing it was Sirius she was considering confiding in; she was, after all, fully aware the horrible foundation that he and Severus ( _and_ James) had. Still, despite knowing it would be wiser to resign herself to silence, she found she couldn't help a moment of weakness.

"It's not great," she managed faintly, hearing a girlish tinge of sadness in her voice and hating herself for it. "He's been a bit strange since Stebbins; which has been unfortunate, you know, considering that I—"

She hesitated. Sirius looked solemn.

"You're worried, aren't you?" he asked quietly. "James is."

She winced at that, making a show of her opposition. "As much as it pains me that Potter might be right," she ventured loudly, "and it _does_ —"

"It pains all of us," Sirius assured her grimly. "Lucky it's so fucking infrequent."

She smiled weakly. "As much as it pains me," she conceded, sighing, "I do wonder whether he might have a point. Dumbledore was quite uncertain about the whole thing." She paused, trying to free her mind of the clutter of _Daily Prophet_ headlines. "And the news from the rest of the world isn't exactly helpful, is it?"

Sirius made a face, as though he didn't particularly appreciate the reminder.

"Oddly, James seems the most conscious of all of us that the real world is coming to collect us soon," he commented with a shrug. "I can't say I care for it much."

"What, the real world?" Lily asked wryly. "Or Potter being conscious?"

"Equally intolerable," Sirius assured her, and she laughed.

"I guess I didn't realize he was taking it seriously," she mused. "Or that he took _anything_ seriously, really."

"Some things," Sirius noted, giving her a particularly pointed look. "Some things do matter to him, Lils."

The pause between them was charged with something she wasn't sure she could (or wanted to) identify. "Are you… saying _I'm_ one of those things?" she ventured hesitantly, wondering how she would feel about that if he were to answer in the negative. Or worse, obviously, in the affirmative.

She frowned. What would actually be worse, all things considered?

"Ah, fuck, lilac!" Sirius declared loudly, nodding enthusiastically at his own potion. "King of potions," he pronounced himself, tossing her a wink and purposefully directing his attention at his textbook. "Get to work, Evans."

Lily sighed. "You're the worst," she said glumly, pouting as Sirius' shoulders shook with silent laughter.

* * *

It was hard for Darian to determine whether having Caleb beside him was comforting or entirely torturous, particularly as he had grown increasingly apprehensive about how closely he was being watched by Peter Pettigrew. The little rat-faced bastard didn't seem to have any qualms about how openly he stared, and it was unnerving, knowing what he knew. Darian did not care for it, just as he did not care for the hitch in his chest each time Caleb's arm brushed his.

"Did you hear from Lucius?" Caleb asked, his attention innocently fixed on the potion before him as he muttered in a low voice, his head tilted towards Darian.

"I did," Darian replied coolly, making a point not to look up. "He's pleased."

"It wasn't too quiet?" Caleb asked, his voice a breathy laugh. "Seems like they're downplaying it in the papers."

"That was purposeful, I think," Darian noted. "Or at least that's what I gather."

"The school governors—"

"Immediately quashed the story," Darian confirmed, nodding. "They're choosing to paint it a dramatic teen runaway rather than anything more sinister."

Caleb scoffed quietly. "As if Stebbins even possesses the creativity for running away."

"Lucius says _he_ "—at that, Darian looked around again, ensuring nobody was listening—"was pleased with that, though. The quietness, as you said."

"I was sure he'd want to aim louder next time," Caleb mused, thoughtful. "I suppose I misinterpreted his aim."

"Best that he doesn't aim loud," Darian reminded him, "considering if that's what he wants, we have the loudest one decidedly crossed off our list of potentials." He glanced up at Lily Evans with a grimace. "And I don't know about you," Darian murmured irritably, gaze flicking to Peter, "but I, for one, don't wish to explain why."

Caleb chuckled. "Fair," he murmured, his gaze joining Darian's to stab murderously across the room into Peter's back. "I've been summoned, by the way," Caleb added casually, glancing back down at his cauldron. "I take the Mark at Christmas."

"About time," Darian muttered, feeling a little thrill at the thought. "With all the work he's putting into Snape—"

"Still in hot pursuit?" Caleb offered coyly, grinning.

"Evidently. I handed over that gory mess of a curse he used," Darian replied with a shrug. "Apparently _he_ quite enjoyed it."

"Maybe we're the ones underestimating him, then," Caleb remarked, jutting his chin out to reference where Slughorn had just approached Severus' workspace. His potion, unlike the others in the room, seemed to have reached the ideal shade and clarity; Lily looked a bit sulky, and James raked a hand through his hair in poorly disguised frustration as Slughorn trumpeted his praise, declaring Severus the winner of the Felix Felicis dose.

"It certainly appears that way," Darian noted, catching a hungry look in Severus' eye as he accepted his winnings. "Though," he began, and then closed his mouth, thinking. _It's the quiet ones,_ Caleb had said. _They're the ones who scribble notes in the margins about how to make people bleed._

"Got something?" Caleb mused, and Darian nodded.

"Meet you after," he murmured, and Caleb slipped out as Darian collected his things, waiting for the classroom to empty before he moved to join Severus at his workspace.

"Well done," Darian mused. "Quite a potion."

"Occasionally, I do actually know what I'm doing," Severus replied defensively, his expression instantly darkening. He seemed aggressive somehow—like he was looking for a fight—and Darian smiled to himself, more aware than ever that his judgment of Severus' temperament was solid.

"I know that," Darian replied smoothly. "Or else why would I spend my time trying to get you on board?"

Severus stiffened. "I told you, I don't want anything to do with—"

"He liked the curse you used," Darian commented, eyeing his fingernails. "He found it inventive. And," he added, glancing up briefly, "I'm quite sure a positive report on your potion-making abilities will not be unwelcome."

"It's not that hard," Severus grumbled, though there was a nearly imperceptible movement in his shoulders; a tiny shifting weight that had been lifted by Darian's praise. "It's simply a matter of—"

"Simply a matter of skill, isn't it?" Darian answered for him. "Of talent?"

Severus said nothing. Darian fought back a knowing smirk.

"It's got to be tiresome, I'd imagine," he said coolly, scrutinizing a cuticle again. "Being so unilaterally ignored, that is."

For a moment, Severus said nothing.

"I know what you're doing," he ventured, swallowing uncomfortably. "I know what this is, Darian."

"Of course you do," Darian replied, "and isn't that my fucking point?" At Severus' silence, Darian leaned against the desk, voice low. "Severus," he murmured, "aren't you growing rather tired of people who don't recognize you for what you are?"

Severus bristled. "And what's that, then?" he countered angrily. "What exactly is it you think I am, Mulciber?"

"Brilliant," Darian offered, and Severus rolled his eyes, scoffing loudly. "No, don't deny it. You're meant for something significant, don't you think?"

Severus' mouth tightened. "If you think you can coddle my ego—"

"Just out of curiosity, what kind of life do you see with her?" Darian asked, musing aloud. "Picture it, Severus, really. No tricks. Just picture your life."

Severus gritted his teeth, resolute in his silent opposition.

"Her friends won't accept you," Darian pointed out. "She'll be the one who shines. And what will you be?"

"Stop," Severus commanded instantly, his shoulders tensing. "Stop."

"Let's see. You'll be, oh, I don't know… happy? Is that it?" Darian went on, leaning into the mockery of his tone. "Is that what you'll settle for, Severus? Some kind of," he paused, making a show of his consideration, "contented mediocrity?"

He let the words sink in; watched the truth of them seep into Severus' consciousness, delighting in a perverse satisfaction as the other boy's face darkened.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. But then—"I choose her," Severus said tightly, his teeth gritted. "If that fails to impress you, Mulciber, then so be it."

He stood quickly, gathering his things with a hasty flick of his wand before swooping out of the classroom, his face newly arranged in a stunning misery that put even his prior exhaustion to shame.

"I take it the conversation didn't go well," Caleb ventured at a drawl, waiting for Darian outside the classroom. "He certainly made a show of storming out."

"Actually, it went _quite_ well," Darian countered cheerily, shrugging his book bag over his shoulders. "I have determined that his mindless devotion to Evans is, indeed, _very_ fucking mindless."

"And that's good?" Caleb prompted.

"Of course. He'll choose Evans every time," Darian remarked, "until, of course—"

"—he has no choice," Caleb supplied knowingly, nodding once. "Pity," he added insincerely, "as he certainly has none."

"What was that you said about motivating people?" Darian asked thoughtfully. "Fear, primarily, and love?"

"I think we amended it to fucking, but love is, of course, more poetic," Caleb determined with a chuckle.

"Fear and love," Darian mused. "What a stroke of fortune to have both at our disposal."

It was only as Caleb's eyes darkened that he realized the truth of what he'd said.


	13. The Glimmer

**Chapter 13: The Glimmer**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: you're looking for trouble, now, aren't you? Better idea: just stay still. Political climate: a hail of favor may protect you, if you toe no lines._

* * *

"This way," Lily called, trying to herd the impossibly small and incurably confused first years towards the appropriate areas on the train; for some reason, without their parents, they simply could not wrap their little heads around the mechanics of loading their trunks into the baggage compartments.

"Some more room here," she noted, gesturing for the benefit of some fretful Hufflepuffs and smiling beatifically at them. They hesitated, looking at the older students who—in their careless chatter and exchanging of holiday goodbyes—had served to create a cluster of obstacles before leaping to board the train.

"Oi!" James yelled, suddenly materializing at her side. "PUT YOUR BAGS HERE AND GET ON THE SODDING TRAIN!"

His voice, always particularly foghorn-esque, served to dissipate the confusion; a group of Gryffindors muscled through and dropped their bags, followed by the Hufflepuffs Lily had attempted to coax.

"There," James declared gleefully, brushing his shoulders off. "Head Boy of the year, I think."

"Thanks," she muttered regretfully, sighing. "Glad to see you've woken up in the mood to be helpful."

"There is no other way to wake, Evans," he returned, sniffing as he moved down the line, checking each baggage compartment. "OI!" she heard him shout. "IS NO ONE PAYING ATTENTION?"

She hid a smile as his loud bark caused a gaggle of Slytherins to scatter, nudging each other as they quickly deposited their bags and stepped onto the train.

"Hey," Marlene said, showing up in a whirl of rose-scented blonde waves. "You coming?"

"Yeah, soon," Lily replied, looking around to survey the last remaining stragglers. "You have a compartment?"

"Mary and Alice got one," Marlene confirmed breezily. "You don't have to do anything with the Prefects, do you?"

"No, we briefed them before we left," Lily said. "As soon as everyone's on the train, I'm all yours."

"Excellent!" Marlene exclaimed with a smile. "It's been absolutely _ages._ "

"I know," Lily agreed with a sigh, "which is entirely my fault."

"Oh hush," Marlene replied, giving her a squeeze. "See you inside. First compartment on the right."

"Got it," Lily said, nodding, and Marlene disappeared behind her, the sounds of laughter carrying through the air from the train carriage.

There were only a few students left now; Lily watched them thoughtfully—a Slytherin girl looking on shyly as a Gryffindor boy gallantly helped her load her trunk—and considered what she had ahead of her on her trip home. Her parents wouldn't be an issue, of course; they were always particularly happy to see her. Lily wondered if they weren't ultimately doing her a disservice, what with her sister surely considering their enthusiasm to be blatant favoritism. As always, it was Petunia's scowling face Lily was already dreading.

She wondered, too, whether Severus was going to find himself in less of a funk. He'd been slightly less broody since having won the Felix Felicis (which, after a bit of time to adjust to the idea of him beating her, she was thrilled for him about; he clearly was in dire need of a little boost of enthusiasm, even if it came from Slughorn) but she couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was hiding something from her. He'd been vaguely distant for the last few weeks, which wasn't entirely reassuring for someone who was already so aloof. She wondered, too, if there wasn't something she could do to get him to open up to her.

She half laughed at that. They would have plenty of time alone together, she reminded herself with a flutter of eagerness. Maybe it wouldn't be too difficult to get him to—

"Evans!" James shouted, waving his arms from a little further down and knocking her out of her reverie. "Evans, would you _get on the train_?"

"Oh," she said, startled, realizing that the two of them were the only remaining students who hadn't boarded. "Yes, yes, I'm going—"

He gave her a curt nod and bounded through a door a few cars down, and she turned to board as well, feeling a rush of contentment as she entered the compartment occupied by her friends.

"She lives!" Mary exclaimed, leaping up to hug her. "The mythical Lily Evans emerges from the depths of hiding," she narrated playfully, adopting a clinical, documentarian tone, "having been previously consumed by the crushing grip of her natural predators: leadership and responsibility—"

"Oh hush," Marlene interrupted, reaching for Lily's hand and pulling her to sit beside her. "Come here. Tell us everything."

"Tell you everything about _what_?" Lily said, rolling her eyes. "I haven't been up to anything," she added; _except for sneaking around with Severus, of course,_ she thought, noting with glee that the secret hadn't gotten any less satisfying.

"Have you fucked Potter yet?" Mary prompted, and Alice nudged her, eyes wide with shock.

"Mary!" she exclaimed, but Lily, not unpredictably, responded with an elaborate series of gagging motions that Marlene seemed to delight in.

"No, I most certainly have not," Lily declared emphatically, once she'd finished retching. "And don't tell me that surprises you."

"It _disappoints_ me is what it does," Mary sniffed. "You've got the one room in the entire school where you can get away with anything, and somehow you've got nothing to show for it?"

"I'm thinking that was the idea," Lily retorted with a lighthearted scoff. "Put the person who actually _behaves themselves_ in charge, I'd imagine."

"It _is_ a bit disappointing," Marlene admitted, her face alight with an impish smile that served to startle Lily thoroughly. "He's gotten so much better, don't you think?"

"Have you turned on me now too, Marlene?" Lily asked, aghast. "Forgotten what a twat Potter is, have you?"

"Oh, he's not _such_ a twat," Marlene offered generously, as Mary nodded her agreement.

"I will admit," Mary began loftily, "that in the past, I, too, have been put off by his, um—" She paused, gesturing to Lily. "What would you call it?"

"Fuckery," Lily supplied.

"Right, that," Mary agreed. "Yes, so, in the _past_ , I think it's fair to say his fuckery was entirely intolerable—but have you seen him lately?"

"It's true," Alice agreed quietly. "Frank says he's quite different now. A little more serious, you know?"

"Doing well in all his classes," Marlene added. "Actually seeming to work hard, too."

"Oh," Mary said, frowning. "I just meant his abs."

"I think you've all just set the bar so low that _any_ improvement whatsoever looks like a stunning development of maturity," Lily determined regally. "And anyway, all I can confirm is the physical improvement," she added slyly, glancing at Mary and fighting a smile as she watched all three jaws drop.

"His abs, you mean?" Marlene repeated, shocked. "When you say _confirm_ —"

"Describe in detail," Mary agreed, leaning forward conspiratorially. "What were you doing? What was _he_ doing? Hell, what was I doing? And also, are we talking Sirius Black-level abs, or—?"

Lily laughed. "Um, no?" she guessed, and Mary nodded, evidently pleased that she could still safely imagine she'd had the best. "I only saw them one time. He was naked," she added, making a face. "Just laying in our common room, totally bare—"

"Wait," Mary blurted out, "you saw _everything_?"

"A little," Lily confessed, giggling at the expression of disbelief on Mary's face. To her surprise, it was Alice who asked the inevitable.

"How was it?" Alice demanded. "And don't any of you judge me for asking," she added, jabbing a finger each at Mary and Marlene.

"We wouldn't," Marlene promised, unable to stop a breathless smile before turning to Lily, radiantly expectant.

Lily hesitated, feeling both slightly sheepish and wholly ridiculous at being asked to explain. "I mean, it wasn't bad," she admitted, her cheeks suddenly quite warm at the memory.

" _Wasn't bad_?" Mary squeaked, and Marlene doubled over, flushed and rosy as she clutched Lily's arm and shook with laughter. "That's all you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm not saying anything else," Lily insisted, slightly resentful that she couldn't blame them for their curiosity. _Not bad_ was definitely an understatement, she thought resignedly, trying not to think about the defined crevices of his stomach—much less the other things she'd seen. "And anyway, he _should_ look fairly decent, shouldn't he? Considering he's always preening about, all _I'm James Potter, I play quidditch—_ "

"Spot on," Mary agreed, nodding at her imitation. "Perfect."

"—so you would _think_ he'd have the requisite physique to show for it," Lily concluded. "And as for the rest, he's a toerag and you know it."

"Oh, you're so hard on him," Marlene tutted with palpable disappointment, sparing her a sharp nudge. "He was so helpful outside!"

"Yes, excellent," Lily declared, making a face. "What a truly stunning feat of chivalry, shouting for people to get on the train—"

"I'm just saying," Marlene cut in softly, giving her a knowing smile. "I think you're going to run out of excuses one of these days, Lil."

Lily opened her mouth to protest and then paused, her thoughts snagging on the momentary mental image of James Potter laughing as he bounded onto the train.

"No," she said firmly, shaking the image from her head. "I won't."

Mary nodded smugly. "Sure," she agreed, exchanging a glance with Alice and smirking.

* * *

"Head Boy of the year," James declared, nudging Sirius aside and collapsing beside him to settle himself across from Remus and Peter. "I've won it for sure this time, I think."

"Would you like to give a speech?" Sirius prompted.

"I would," James agreed, leaping back to his feet and offering a curt bow. "I would like to thank you, my dearest friends, for always being the basis for comparison which has allowed me to shine so thoroughly," he said grandly, "and Evans, for loathing me so intently that I am pushed to the boundaries of my talents—"

"Beautiful," Remus determined, clapping quietly. "Moving."

Sirius laughed, grabbing hold of James' collar and yanking him back to fall into his seat. "Head Dickhead," Sirius declared, raising an invisible glass.

"Head Dickhead," Remus agreed, smiling as he consented to clink.

"Oh," James announced, suddenly remembering, "Moony, you're coming for Christmas breakfast, right? Mum asked me to check, and naturally I've forgotten until now." Peter looked up at that, and James suffered a momentary twinge of remorse. "I assumed you couldn't, Wormtail," James explained hurriedly, giving him an apologetic wince. "I know your parents like having you around during the holidays."

"Right," Peter agreed, nodding. "Yeah. True."

He looked down and James looked questioningly at Remus, gesturing. _Is he—_

Remus gave him a warning glance; beside him, Sirius had opened a muggle magazine in apparent disinterest, flipping the pages of what seemed to be a series of pictures of women on motorbikes.

"I think I can come," Remus supplied after a moment, nodding to James. "Timing works. And since Padfoot will be—" He broke off. "Er, you know."

"Ah," James noted puckishly, nudging Sirius, "going on a little field trip, are you?"

"Full moon Christmas Eve," Sirius noted, looking up from his magazine to glance reassuringly at Remus. "Figured he'd want his pack."

Remus looked down with a half-hidden smile; James gave them a moment before flailing in his usual manner.

"Anyway," James continued loudly, "as I was saying—"

"What are you doing for Christmas, Wormtail?" Remus asked, turning to Peter. Their fourth member was oddly quiet, his gaze drawn placidly out the window.

"Nothing really," Peter replied, barely glancing their way. "Like Prongs said. Family."

"You know what we should do," Sirius suggested, sitting up. "Egg my house."

"Egg it?" James asked, confused. "Eggs?"

"Or dungbombs, I'm not picky," Sirius said with a shrug. "I have to imagine it's the throwing facet that would be extremely satisfactory."

"The launching of the item, you think?" Remus asked, mimicking the motion, and Sirius nodded, mirroring him.

"Personally, I would guess the subsequent impact is the crucial bit," James corrected.

"I'm surprised," Remus commented, smiling. "I'd have thought you'd find enjoyment in the mess, Prongs."

"I don't know where you all gather your _deeply inaccurate_ opinions of me," James sniffed. "When have I ever made a mess?"

"Halloween second year," Sirius supplied instantly. "The cauldrons, remember? The confetti, and all those plastic snakes? Plus the bathrooms—"

"The party after the Slytherin game fourth year," Remus added. "Was there paint involved? I remember paint."

"I am having so much fun," James muttered to himself, pointedly ignoring them. "I am living my _best life—_ "

Sirius snapped his fingers. "That was nothing compared to the Ravenclaw game fifth year," he reminded Remus, delighted. "Remember how Evans caught him in the common room chasing all those nose-biting teacups he'd set loose? I thought she was going to _murder_ him—"

"Okay, so I have made one or two messes," James permitted stiffly. "I like to think I've improved, haven't I?"

There was a pause, and he looked down; then Sirius nudged him.

"You're good," he said quietly, and James felt as if he had shouted his reassurance; perhaps even following it up with a brass band parade.

"Thanks," he replied, his gratitude equally loud in its quietude.

When he finally looked up, grey eyes found hazel as Sirius offered him a rare smile of sincerity. "I'm fucking excited to go home," Sirius admitted, and to that, James couldn't help smiling back.

* * *

Darian walked in after Evan Rosier, jutting his chin for Wilkes to vacate a space beside Caleb.

"Move," he instructed, gesturing, and Wilkes sulkily obliged, switching to the opposite bench.

"Hey," Caleb said, nodding to Darian. "Where've you been?"

Darian gestured to Evan, barely concealing an eye roll. "Rosier needed backup."

"Oh really?" Caleb prompted doubtfully, brow arched. "Who?"

"Nobody he's capable of achieving," Darian assured him, and Evan grunted his disagreement.

"Bringing you was a terrible fucking idea," he muttered. "I thought you'd make me look good."

"What would give you that idea?" Caleb scoffed. "Bringing in someone taller, richer, and smarter? When has that ever worked?"

Darian fought a smile, hearing the praise—and more than an edge of possessiveness, he noted, though he was less sure what to do with that.

"There's a first time for everything," Evan grumbled. "Anyway, we're here now." He put his feet up between Caleb and Darian, sliding forward in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. "Fucking _about time_ we get out of the castle, too—have you had an impossible time since Stebbins fucked off?" he asked Darian. "Or is it just me that Evans and Potter seem to hate?"

Darian made a concerted effort to shrug his disinterest.

"What does that mean?" Wilkes asked, glancing over at Evan.

"It's been nonstop scrutiny," Evan mumbled crossly. "Evans is always bitching, and Potter's all up my arse with questions whenever her back is turned—"

"I can't say I'm having the same experience," Darian interrupted smoothly. "Maybe I don't strike them as possessing quite the same level of deviance."

At that, he and Caleb exchanged a look; Caleb's lips twisted into a wry smile that made Darian's stomach lurch, prompting him to abruptly turn away. If he looked any longer, he knew his eyes would only trace the outline of Caleb's mouth, and in such close quarters, that would not be easily explained.

"That's true," Caleb agreed, seemingly impervious to the violent thudding that ricocheted around in Darian's chest. "Rosier just looks twitchy and suspect by comparison. Explains the lack of fucking, too."

"Oh, fuck off," Evan said, aiming a kick at Caleb's thigh. "I suppose _you'd_ be just about as much help."

"Taller, smarter, richer," Darian pointed out, wondering if Caleb, too, could hear the reverberating undertone of appreciation in his voice.

Evan rolled his eyes, sulking.

"Try Wilkes," Caleb suggested lazily, and Darian fought an urge to slip a questioning glance his way, hearing notes of manipulation behind the feigned silkiness of his voice that Darian was long apt to recognize. "A gentleman and a compatriot, that one," Caleb provided mischievously, as Wilkes drew himself up in offense. "Far better in service than Mulciber here could ever manage," he added, and Darian drew a sharp breath as Caleb's grip closed tightly around his shoulder, punctuating the jest.

"Not a bad idea, actually," Evan noted, letting his head loll to the side to look at Wilkes. "Maybe I should try it."

"You _just_ spoke to her!" Wilkes exclaimed, crossing his arms in sullen opposition.

"So?" Evan returned, unfazed. "If I'm going to manage to break this fucking dry spell by Christmas, I'm going to have to lay the groundwork now."

"How Hufflepuff of you," Darian said stiffly, leaning into the vacancy of Caleb's hand pulling away from his arm with carefully suppressed displeasure.

"I prefer to think of it as Slytherin ambition," Evan corrected indifferently, rising promptly to his feet. "Come on," he muttered gruffly to Wilkes, "just—keep that fucking look on your face and laugh at my clever quips."

"Do alert us if you witness any," Caleb suggested, smirking as Evan blatantly ignored him.

" _This_ look?" Wilkes suggested, gesturing to his sneering expression. "This look of 'fuck off, Rosier,' or is there another—"

"Your normal look," Evan corrected snobbily. "It's a combination of 'vaguely imbecilic' and 'pleasantly nonthreatening,' which is clearly perfect for this situation."

"Fuck you," Wilkes grumbled, though he grudgingly conceded to stand, seemingly from boredom. Evan tossed a careless nod over his shoulder at Caleb and Darian and then disappeared, Wilkes following reluctantly at his heels.

The moment the door shut behind them, Caleb stood, his shoulders tense. Darian watched, his eyes trained on the coiled muscle of Caleb's back. He knew a ruse when he saw one, and seeing as they were now conspicuously alone, clearly Caleb had something in mind.

"What is it?" Darian asked quietly.

"You have a plan?" Caleb asked, turning to face him. Darian's breath caught at the impact of Caleb's eyes meeting his, but he said nothing.

"With Severus," Caleb clarified. "With the other mudbloods. I only ask," he clarified, his blue eyes flashing, "because I'd rather not make myself any more vulnerable than I need to be."

"Vulnerable," Darian repeated dubiously. "You?"

"I have a tendency towards… certain indiscretions," Caleb explained, his expression indecipherable. Darian swallowed uncomfortably. "Certain habits I seem to repeatedly indulge."

"Cure them, then," Darian warned, but Caleb shook his head.

"I find I'm attached to my secrets," he murmured, turning back to the door. Darian stared, wondering if he was leaving; wondering, too, if he could prevent himself from stopping him.

"Do you have a plan?" Caleb asked again, bowing his head as he waited for an answer. Even in the sad institutionalized light of the train, the golden sheen of his hair glinted in the space between them.

"I do," Darian said hoarsely, letting his tongue drag slowly across his suddenly dry lips. "Yes," he confirmed, louder this time. "I have a plan."

"Good," Caleb determined, suddenly brisk as he tapped the door with his wand. Darian heard the lock click and felt his cock twitch receptively in answer, barely breathing as he waited.

Caleb turned, his face unreadable.

"Indulge me," he beckoned.

Darian didn't know he had moved until he was tasting Caleb's lips, burying his fingers in Caleb's hair. He didn't know he had stood until Caleb's hips ground against his; didn't know he had taken a single step until he ran his hands along the contours of Caleb's stomach, his fingers tracing the pebbled flesh, the hairs that stood on end. He didn't know what he was doing until he felt Caleb's laughing breath on his neck, Caleb's lips against his ear, Caleb's hips under his hands—

And then it was Darian on his knees this time, it was Darian kneeling at the altar that was Caleb—it was _his_ consent to worship; _his_ abhorrent penance, _his_ euphoric sin—

"Darian," Caleb groaned, adjusting his stance— _Yes, yes, like that—_

 _Fucking hell._

* * *

Severus stared out the window as the train approached the station, his hand still tightly clenched around the vial of Felix Felicis.

"Well done!" Lily had said when he'd won it, bounding into his arms and laughing, smelling of magnolias and summer. "Sev, look at you!"

"Had a good day, I suppose," Severus grunted back, hiding a smile in the crook of her neck and burying the remains of it in the dark auburn of her hair. "Otherwise I'm sure you'd have had it."

"Oh pish," Lily replied, pulling back to bless him with the glimmer of affection that shone in her warm green eyes. "It was all you, Sev."

He looked down at the vial now and managed a smile, still valiant in his efforts to ignore the two Ravenclaws that were snogging on the opposite bench; he'd been first to a compartment and others had come in and then left, noting his presence with a disinterested sniff, but these two were relentless.

He sighed. So be it.

Severus would normally have preferred to stay in the castle for the holiday, but with Lily going home, he wanted to be available for her. Petunia, blasted harpy that she was, was sure to stir something unpleasant, and Severus couldn't stand the thought of Lily being forced to endure her sister's envy without support. His mother would be happy to see him, anyway. In her way.

His father—

Well, if he were lucky, perhaps his father had finally abandoned them. It would be a satisfactory Christmas indeed if the man would just blissfully give in to his constant threats of departure.

The train came to a stop in King's Cross and Severus peered intently out the window, catching familiar faces. He didn't see his mother, but that was no surprise; she had a tendency to be late, and anyway, he hardly needed to be fetched. He could see the Evans family waving and imagined Lily's smile, her wave through the glass; it was hard to hold the muggles in contempt knowing her fondness for them, though as Petunia stepped out from behind her mother— _Could her face get any more pinched?_ Severus wondered—he recalled his natural detest with an instant grimace.

He came to his feet, muscling his way past the two Ravenclaws and emerging from the train corridor, following the herds of students who were making their way out onto the platform. He could see Lily at the opposite end of the car and he stopped for a moment, watching her face light up at some surely inelegant joke from the insipid Mary MacDonald.

She glanced up and he held his breath; she offered him a small, covert smile—with a little coquettish bite of her lip that he read as a promise—before turning back to the others, squeezing the arm of Marlene McKinnon and following them off the train.

Behind him, the two Ravenclaws finally surfaced and pushed him forward, eager to get to their families (or so he presumed, not being familiar with the concept) and Severus consented to shuffle forward, ducking his head and stepping out onto the station platform. He looked around; no Eileen yet.

That was fine. He could wait.

Severus pulled his trunk out from among the other baggage and watched as Lily made her way to her family; she threw herself into her father's arms, kissing him soundly on the cheek, and offered her mother an only slightly less enthusiastic greeting before turning to Petunia, who coldly extended her hand. Lily sighed but took it, giving her a compulsory shake, and then rolled her eyes, turning to slip an arm around her mother's waist.

"Beautiful family," Severus heard in his ear, turning with a jolt to face a particularly smug looking Darian, who nodded towards Lily. "Notable resemblance, too."

"No there isn't," Severus retorted gruffly, shifting away. There wasn't; Lily's eyes, as far as he was concerned, were her own, and she certainly had a radiance that the other three— _especially_ Petunia—noticeably lacked.

"Well, blood is blood," Darian noted casually.

Severus stiffened. "Go away," he muttered, and Darian laughed.

"You chose her," Darian mused, "but will she choose _you_?"

In spite of himself, Severus went cold at the thought; he watched as Lily blew a kiss to Mary and Marlene and cheerfully turned to her parents. He was still watching when she bumped into Sirius Black and gave him a hug, even offering James Potter a not-antagonistic nod before linking arms with her mother.

"Just something to think about," Darian offered, "you know. Before you have to make choices you'd rather not have to." Severus turned quickly, intent on demanding an explanation, but by then, Darian was already walking away.

"Happy Christmas, Severus," Darian called over his shoulder, tossing him a smile of merciless satisfaction as he joined his father and Caleb. "See you soon," he added, something in his eyes prompting a horrifying knot in Severus' stomach that even a forceful internal shove could not unravel.

The crowd was thinning now, and Lily had long disappeared from view; Severus pulled his trunk over to the far wall and leaned against it, pulling the vial of Felix Felicis out of his pocket. He rubbed his thumb over the stopper, considering its possibilities.

Darian's face lingered in his mind. _See you soon._

They couldn't go back to Hogwarts, Severus decided firmly, his grip tightening on the small bottle. There was no way. Another term like the one before? They couldn't return. He wouldn't let her. He'd have to talk her into running; surely there was somewhere they could go, even temporarily.

 _Will she choose you?_

Of course she would choose him, Severus told himself vigorously, reminding himself of the look in her eyes, and the way she knew him better than anyone. Her lips on his skin; she'd claimed him, hadn't she? He belonged to her, and vice versa.

Didn't she?

 _I have friends, you know,_ Imaginary Lily reminded him. _I have a family; I can't throw everyone away, Severus, you can't ask me to do that—_

He shrugged the sound of her voice away. Yes, she'd said that, but if she _knew_ —if she really understood—

She wouldn't be happy about it, but if she really _knew_ —

He looked down, contemplating the potion in his hand. _One extraordinary day,_ he thought, considering the prospects. One lucky day. Wasn't that all he needed? All it would take was one dose, and surely he could convince her.

Darian's voice interrupted. _But will she choose you?_

Severus grimaced. Did the choice _really_ matter? Couldn't he be satisfied with her safety without knowing it was her _choice_?

 _No,_ he thought with a sigh, tucking the potion back into his pocket. No. He would have to let her choose. He would have to convince her. He'd have to believe such a thing were possible, or there would be no living with himself otherwise.

 _Happy Christmas,_ he told himself miserably, letting his head fall back. He only hoped he could trust the look in her eye more than his own reservations.


	14. The Illusion

**Chapter 14: The Illusion**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: ah, but on a holiday, who would deign to disappear? Friends: gathered. Family: clasped tight, don't let go. Political climate: don't look away, you might miss it, and then what will you know?_

* * *

"Vernon Dursley," Lily repeated, unable to say the name without scoffing. "Think about that, Mum. Really _think_ about it. If she married him, she'd be Petunia _Dursley—_ "

"Oh, Lily," Harriet sighed, though Lily could see she was fighting a laugh. "Don't be so hard on him. He means well."

"He most certainly does _not_ mean well," Lily grumbled. "All piggish and beady-eyed," she added under her breath.

"I think he's a nice enough young man," Harriet replied sagely, which was easy enough for her to say, being well into her third glass of wine. "And Tuney seems to be exceptionally fond of him, don't you think?"

"She's _also_ exceptionally fond of wearing her hair like that," Lily began, "but I think we can all _clearly_ see that—"

"Lily," Harriet cut in warningly, raising a single brow. "Sweetheart."

 _Be nice, Lily. Be kind._

Lily sighed. "Sorry Mum," she mumbled. "I guess he could be worse."

"That's the spirit," Harriet said brightly. "And anyway, I think he might be quite lovely for Petunia." She took a thoughtful sip of wine. "I think he'll give her what she wants."

"Which is?" Lily prompted skeptically.

"Contentment, I think," Harriet mused, and nodded. "Yes," she decided. "A comfortable life."

"A _normal_ life, you mean," Lily sighed. Her gaze traveled sadly to the dishes, which were currently washing themselves in the sink. She and her mother had excused themselves to clean up after dinner while the other three—her father, sister, and her sister's unbearable boyfriend who she just _insisted_ on calling her 'beau'—had a digestif after dinner.

Harriet looked disheartened. "Oh, ignore her, dear," she ventured reassuringly. "You know she's much more conventional than you are."

" _That's_ quite a nice way to put it," Lily countered, and her mother smiled.

"Niceness is a virtue," Harriet reminded her. "And anyway, don't worry about what Petunia thinks. I, for one, am happy to be in here _not_ washing the dishes." To prove it, she took an indulgent sip.

"Mum," Petunia said loudly, suddenly bursting into the kitchen, "Vernon was thinking— _what is this?"_ she hissed immediately, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the charmed kitchenware. Lily quickly muttered a _Finite_ , causing the dishes to clatter loudly to a halt in the sink.

"How _could_ you?" Petunia demanded, drawing herself up angrily. A moment of hurt registered in her eyes—though, just as quickly, they narrowed pointedly in spite. "Mother," she demanded, spinning to face Harriet, "how could you let her bring her—her—" She sputtered, eyes flashing, "her _freakishness_ into this house? _Tonight_ of all nights?"

"Petunia," Harriet warned sharply, setting down her glass and rising to her feet. "Do not speak to your sister that way."

"Why shouldn't I?" Petunia countered, her face mottled with rage. "Maybe if you would stop being entranced by her—her _mutations_ for one moment"—at that Lily's throat burned with spiteful retorts, forced to swallow them in an effort to _be nice, Lily, be kind_ —"and spend some time with Vernon and Daddy—"

"I will," Harriet interrupted calmly, "I was only—"

But Petunia's ire could not be contained. "Can you not see that this is important?" she shrieked, her arms flailing as she rounded menacingly on Lily. "You!" she wailed, pointing an accusatory finger. "Do you _always_ have to come in and ruin everything? I really think he's going to propose, and now—if he sees you—if he sees _this_ , if he knows what you _are_ —"

For a moment Lily recognized something in her sister; for an instant, she saw the wide-eyed girl who'd so tentatively witnessed her younger sister's magic, and she flinched, starting to consider that maybe she didn't quite understand the root of Petunia's fear.

"Oh, Tuney," Lily sighed. "I'm really not trying to ruin anything."

"What if he were to walk in here, Lily?" Petunia was close to tears by this point, and if she were any less horrible, Lily might have managed to feel truly apologetic. As it was, though, the moment was short-lived, and Petunia was quick to let her insecurity manifest itself in scorn. "It's a wonder I'm able to find _anyone_ ," she spat, "considering I only nearly escaped being a freak like you!"

It was a tired game, the name calling, but it still stung, and Lily promptly forgot her capacity for empathy, feeling the familiar lick of rage in her bones.

"Tuney," Lily began, curling her hands into fists, but was instantly interrupted by her father's voice in the other room.

"Hattie," her father called desperately to her mother, "dear, you've got to come out here, Vernon's telling the most delightful story about—what was it again?" There was a pause, presumably as Vernon supplied an answer. "Ah yes, low interest institutional lending, fascinating—"

"Oh, he sounds troubled," Harriet sighed, rising to her feet and refilling her glass. "Suppose I'll have to come rescue him. Oh, sorry darling," she offered, as Petunia's face blanched indignantly. "Did I say rescue? I meant join in on the fun, of course—"

Petunia tossed her mother an insubordinate scowl and stomped out of the room, not sparing a second glance for either of them. Lily glanced apprehensively at her mother.

"I don't have to come back out, do I?" she asked, her fists still clenched in frustration. Her mother shook her head, sympathetic.

"No," Harriet confirmed gently. "I'll just tell them you've gone to bed early."

"Thanks, Mum," Lily exhaled, feeling a rush of gratitude for her mother's understanding, even if it was ultimately quite unhelpful. She suspected (was sure of it, by now) that her relationship with her sister was beyond repair. "But I think I'll go out, if you don't mind."

"I suppose you spend the rest of the year doing as you please without my oversight, don't you? I should come to expect you to be off running free," Harriet permitted with a shrug. "But let's just say it's Christmas Eve and Mummy's had some wine, so don't be out too late."

Lily smiled. "Fair," she agreed.

Harriet flashed her a warm smile and took a deep breath before turning to leave, like she was preparing to leap from a treacherous cliff. Lily stifled a laugh and smiled after her, a little sad to see her go, but warmed at the thought of seeing Severus.

She slipped into her bedroom, checking her hair and pulling on something warm before sighing at her reflection.

"You look beautiful," the mirror squeaked.

Lily rolled her eyes. "You'd disagree if you could think for yourself," she informed it curtly. "Marlene enchanted you to think that."

"Your hair is a marvel," it chirped back, and she shook her head.

"If you knew better, you'd hardly be so free with praise," she sniffed. "For one thing, I probably destroyed my relationship with my sister when I was eleven years old and I told her I knew about her letter to Dumbledore. Scarring, I'd imagine. Humiliating." She frowned. "And totally immature of me."

"Flawless complexion," the mirror offered hopefully.

"And _now_ ," Lily continued, "everything about me upsets her. My very _existence_ upsets her. And how am I supposed to keep her safe?" she lamented, suddenly wishing she'd just washed the damn dishes by hand. "How am I supposed to convince her to listen to me if she just does everything in her power to push me away?"

There was a pause as the mirror considered her.

"You look beautiful," it decided.

Lily sighed. "Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome!" the mirror sang.

* * *

Severus transfigured an old sheet from his house into a plush, warm blanket and tossed it over the ground, trying to make things comfortable for her. He'd made some cocoa—with great difficulty, of course, skirting around his yelling father and his tearful mother—and enchanted the leaves of their favorite tree to twinkle, hoping it amounted to something special.

He'd _also_ spent several minutes staring at the vial of Felix Felicis, still not entirely willing to abandon it as an option. In the end he'd poured it into an extra thermos of charmed cocoa—one for him, he reasoned, and another for her—and brought it along.

Just in case.

She arrived with a soft pop and he stood, holding out a blanket and a travelling mug.

"How was it?" he asked, but her expression was answer enough.

"Tuney's got a _beau_ ," she said, making a face. "She's brought him home for dinner."

"I have to assume he's an unutterable bore," Severus said with a grimace, and she nodded.

"I think he's attempting to murder my father as we speak," she agreed. "With his exquisite dullness, I mean."

"With the blunt instrument of tedium?" he suggested, smiling.

"It's nearly a sharp edge of monotony," Lily ventured. "As if he purposefully seeks to bore us all straight to an early grave."

Severus chuckled. "Delightful."

"Quite," she sighed, tossing her bag on the ground and flopping down on the blanket before gesturing for him to join her. "Come here, would you?"

He sat carefully and she shifted over, leaning comfortably against his chest. "How's your Christmas Eve progressing?"

He stiffened. "I'd rather not."

There were only so many ways to tell the same story.

"Fine," she sighed. "Same, I think."

He placed his chin atop her head. "Trouble with Petunia?"

"Always," Lily growled, her hair tickling his throat as she shook her head. "Worse now that she's _in love_ , or whatever this is."

There was an opening here. Severus put his arms carefully around her, nudging his lips against her ear.

"Perhaps you'd be better without her," Severus suggested quietly, and she, seeming not to notice the finality in his tone, gave another exasperated sigh.

"Sometimes I really think I would be," she admitted grouchily. "She's utterly _ruining_ my holiday, honestly, and I know I shouldn't be surprised, but—"

"Perhaps," Severus attempted again, "your life would be much easier if you lived your life, and left Petunia to"—he made a face, considering the horrid muggle boyfriend he hadn't even met and feeling he likely already had a fairly good grasp on his deficiencies—"live _hers_."

He caught Lily's pensive frown and knew she'd heard his intent this time.

"Sev," she began, slowly peeling herself away to face him. "What are you suggesting?"

"I understand," Severus began slowly, "that you feel some obligation to her—"

"Obligation?" Lily echoed, confused, but he put a hand on her knee, stilling her.

There was potentially not a good way to say it. Some things, he guessed, just had to be said, and then softened later.

"I think things might be worse for you at the castle than you believe," he began carefully, and her eyes widened. "And I had been thinking that we should have a discussion about whether or not we return." He took the look in her eyes for bemusement and clarified, clearing his throat awkwardly. "To the castle, I mean."

For a moment, she only stared at him, and he wondered if he'd already committed a horrifying misstep. He thought back over his tone (had he been patronizing? Cold? Aloof?) and fought panic as he waited, wondering where her fascinating Lily-brain was taking her—and hoping it was somewhere he could follow.

"Severus," she finally uttered, disbelieving. "I'm _Head Girl_."

"I know that," he agreed at once, sensitive to her vanities. "Of course."

"I have to go back," she continued, brow furrowed, and he fought not to laugh at the absurdity of her reasoning, wondering how she could find merit in something as flimsy as a schoolgirl's badge.

"I'm safe there," she added, and he grimaced. "Dumbledore's there, and—"

"You're _not_ safe there," Severus cut in bluntly. "You're not."

He'd said it too forcefully; her green eyes immediately searched his and he looked down, fighting not to abandon his conviction. He'd known he would struggle with how to tell her without fully confessing the extent of what he'd done, but he still didn't—he _still_ couldn't—

"It's worse than you think," he eventually murmured, and at that, every spare piece of her seemed to go rigid.

"Severus," she said, and he flinched at her tone. "What is it you know?"

He said nothing. Nothing seemed appropriate.

"You've been hiding something. You _know_ something," she accused, narrowing her eyes in question. "About Stebbins." She swallowed, looking a little fearful of his answer. "Don't you?"

"No," he said, his mouth suddenly quite dry. "I don't know anything."

She seemed to catch the inflection' the emphasis on the word _know_. He'd said _nothing I can prove,_ and she'd heard it for what it was.

"You have suspicions," she ventured forcefully, and his heart began to pound at the way she was already drawing away from him; holding herself, restrained and distant, arms crossed over her chest. "You don't think he ran away?"

He suppressed a mirthless laugh. _No, Lily, and neither do you._

"I don't know what happened to Stebbins," Severus assured her, carefully tiptoeing with his phrasing. "I don't. But," he continued purposefully, "I _also_ don't think it's a good idea for us to return."

"Us," Lily echoed, and he nodded.

"We'd go somewhere safe," he promised her. "Somewhere outside of Britain. Away from _him_ ," he added, and there was a flicker in her gaze, like she'd caught something.

"Is he after you as well?" she asked, and he heard the unsaid question in her voice.

 _Does he want you like he wants Mulciber? Like he wants Avery, or Rosier?_

It wasn't a question he could answer. To admit it would be to admit having betrayed her long ago, long before that moment, with the thoughtless associations of his youth.

 _You can't tell her._

 _I wouldn't,_ he heard Darian say. _Provided we are able to come to a sort of… understanding._

It would be to betray her with the associations he was still forced to labor under, he reminded himself, fighting a shudder.

"I don't know," he finally lied. She pursed her lips, only half convinced.

"So you want to run," she estimated slowly. "Now. Before the school year is even over."

"Yes," he said, relieved that it had been her to say it; feeling encouraged by her lack of immediate refusal. "Yes."

"But my family," she protested, and Severus bit his tongue, fighting the urge to retort _what about them?_

"You'd have to leave them," he confirmed with a nod. "If they knew where you were—"

"But whether they know or not, _he_ could still find them them," she said, and he knew there were headlines flashing in her mind— _MUGGLES DEAD—MUGGLES CAPTURED—MUGGLES TORTURED IN CAPTIVITY—_ "He could still hurt them, Sev—"

"It's a risk, yes," Severus replied, still somewhat unable to grasp her hesitation. "But worth it."

"Is it?" Lily questioned flatly, and he glanced at the thermos containing the Felix, wondering if he should just quit now and take it. Perhaps he should simply surrender himself to the kiss of fortune, and merely live with the punishment of his conscience later.

"Of course," he said, finding himself a little distracted as he considered the prospects of the Felix dose. "Of course—better them than you, Lily—"

"That's the second time you've said that," she interjected sharply, and something in her tone made him look up, apprehensive. Her lovely green eyes were chilling, intent and somehow distant, and he had the faint, intangible sensation that she was looking at him from a new vantage point.

"Is it?" he asked. "I only meant that—"

"You said the same thing about Stebbins," she said, and her voice was low, suspicious in a way that he had not heard from her before, and which instinct told him was dangerous. "You said the same thing when he disappeared," she reminded him. "Better him than me."

He frowned at her, wondering how she could not simply add up the facts; how she could not know consent to admit that two and two was four, and to determine that he was correct.

"Of course I would say that," he began patiently, "considering—"

"You really don't think muggles and muggleborns are worth anything, do you?" she cut in abruptly, and now he knew for certain they were somewhere precarious; teetering on the edge. "You really haven't changed at all, have you?"

"That's not true," he countered instantly, glancing down again at the thermos of cocoa. "I'm only saying—since you and Petunia are estranged anyway—"

"She's still my sister!" Lily exclaimed, suddenly scrambling to her feet and upending the items that lay scattered on the blanket, twisting out of his reach. "How can you think I would leave her in danger? How can you think I would _sacrifice_ her—just for _my own_ safety—"

"Why wouldn't you?" Severus pressed, rising to face her. "After everything she's done? After years of seeing how little she values you?"

"She is _blood_ , Severus—and despite how little you think of _mine_ , I promise you," she spat, and he heard it as a threat, "I'm not going to turn my back on that."

It was so foreign a concept, so foolish a conviction, that he barely managed to breathe.

"Don't," he pleaded helplessly, feeling a warning pang in his gut and scrambling for a way out. _You're not listening. You're not hearing me._ "Don't, Lily, please—"

"Don't what?" she demanded. "You still don't understand. You still don't seem to appreciate that this is about more than just _me_ ," she said, her cheeks flaming with fury. "I am not the kind of person who runs, Severus," she determined, "not even for you!"

 _Not even for you._

He heard something change; heard the shift in her voice.

And then she blinked, realizing what she'd said, and he _saw_ it.

"I'm not worth it to you, am I?" he asked quietly, and she immediately looked pained.

"Severus," she murmured, her voice hesitant—but she didn't deny it. He cursed himself a thousand times for never having realized.

"You want to stay and be brave," he registered, shaking his head in disbelief. "You want to make a statement of your life. But I just want you _alive_ ," he pleaded hoarsely. "I want you _with me_."

"I'm not asking you to go," she choked out, and though he felt a grim satisfaction at her faint indication of sheepishness, he could not imagine how she could say that; how she could carry on like what she was asking was not in itself a careless abandonment of her safety, or a bitter rejection of his better judgment. "I'm asking you to stand for something," she added emphatically, drawing herself up. "To _stand_ with me, not run!"

He stared at her, at her unfathomable folly; at the breathtaking madness that was her consummate lack of self-preservation. _She couldn't possibly think—_

"I just want you safe," he croaked. "All I want is to keep you safe."

"I know," she said, but he could see she was more frustrated than understanding; the statement was a concession, but a weak one. "I know, Sev—"

"If we go back—"

"We'll get through it, I promise—"

"You don't understand—you don't _understand—_ "

"Then _tell_ me—"

"I can't!" he shouted, breathless at the sheer scale of her recklessness. "I _can't_ , Lily, you just have to trust me, you just have to _listen to me—_ "

"Tell me why!" she yelled back, and she was gone now, far past the point he knew how to translate; completely outside the realm of the relationship he thought he'd understood. "Tell me why you think I should drop everything—why I should abandon my education, my home, my _family_ —"

He couldn't believe she didn't know the answer. "Because one worthless muggle isn't worth you risking your life!" he roared back, heart pounding in his chest; knowing immediately that she'd heard the unspoken mention of her sister's name.

She stared at him, and he knew he'd gone too far.

"How dare you," she said quietly, and despite the danger he knew was there, despite the sharp edge to her tone, he refused to bend to her anger. "How _dare_ you weigh her life against mine—"

"I would weigh every life against yours and they would all come up short," he assured her, tasting the bitterness of truth on his tongue. " _All_ of them. My own," he added fiercely, "and your sister's. _Certainly_ your sister's."

She bent her head, covering her face with her hands, and he waited, trying to read her sudden resignation; there was a limpness to her posture, a degree of defeat, and he wondered if she'd understood.

Foolish, tongue-tied, and entirely helpless, he waited.

"This isn't love," Lily finally said, her voice breaking when she looked up at him. "This is _not_ love, Severus—"

"Yes it is," he insisted, knowing nothing else but that. "This is how much I love you."

She was shaking her head; his heart was racing— _no, no, no—_

"This"—she gestured between them, her eyes wild—"this is unhealthy, this isn't how it should be, surely you know that—"

 _No, no, no—_ how could he _know_ that? She was the only person he'd ever loved; she was the only person who'd ever loved him. How could he know any different?

How could she ask him to deny his one truth?

"No," he argued faintly, the word still resounding violently in his head. "No—"

"How could I live with myself, Severus?" she begged him, and try as he might—and he _tried_ , oh, he _tried_ —he could not understand the question. "How could I live up to what you want me to be for you?"

He stared as she tore herself open in front of him. _Give me a reason._

But he only held up his hands, spent. _I don't know what to say._

An eternity passed between them, and they grew and they morphed and they changed.

 _This is a hard love, isn't it?_

He broke and he mourned.

 _Will it get harder?_

He waited patiently, frozen in her silence, but he knew before she spoke that something was fractured. Something was destroyed beyond repair. An illusion, he guessed. Something they'd now have to live with knowing.

"I can't do this," she whispered, but he knew it before she said it.

He'd known it all along. She couldn't do this. She never would. And if he'd ever really believed she could—if he had ever been honest—perhaps he would have told her sooner.

He sat alone under their tree, staring at the lights long after she'd gone. He wondered if there had been a way to prevent it; if there was something he could _do_ , something he could _say_ —suffering the blow of every word he would have taken back; every consequence he could have avoided. He shattered with every pulsing ache, thinking back to _if only I'd said_ or _if only I'd done_ , the _if onlys_ ripping him to shreds, feasting on his remains.

It was at least an hour before he moved again, slowly turning his head to look in the direction she'd traveled, following the path of her retreat.

That's when he noticed the thermos was gone.

* * *

James heard his father's voice in the entryway and frowned; he and his mother were normally far quieter after dinner, and rarely entertained guests. At their age, of course, entertainment was wearisome. Bothersome.

Frankly, even James exhausted them at times.

"Father?" he called, his heels clicking in the hallway, and Fleamont turned, smiling brightly at him.

"Ah, there you are," Fleamont said, as though he had, in fact, been looking.

"Yes, here am I," James confirmed idly, lifting a brow. "What is—"

But he trailed off as Fleamont stepped aside, revealing a glimpse of dark auburn hair.

"Evans?" James asked blankly, and she met his gaze, flushed and wide-eyed.

"Hi, Potter," she said vacantly, offering him a small, awkward wave. "Happy Christmas Eve."

"Right," James said slowly, glancing at his father for the explanation he so desperately needed. "Did you—"

"She's looking for Sirius," Fleamont supplied, giving Lily a kind, paternal nod of reassurance. "Is he about?"

"Er—sleeping, sir," James lied. "But I could, um—wake him, I suppose."

"Ah, yes," Fleamont agreed, chuckling. " _Sleeping._ "

Lily stood on tiptoe, leaning towards his father and unsuccessfully hiding the movement of her lips. "I suspect, sir," she said, in a whisper that may as well have been a shout, "that your son is engaging in some less-than-truths." At that, Fleamont chuckled, James reddened, and Lily—bizarrely, in James' view—gave a cheerful nod. "Don't you?"

"Are you calling me a liar, Evans?" James erupted, forgetting momentarily that he was, in fact, a liar. "Honestly, you come into _my house—_ "

"James," Fleamont interrupted gently, smiling. "Perhaps you can take Miss Evans to wherever Sirius is… sleeping?" he ventured, not sounding entirely innocent.

James glared sulkily at his father's lack of subtlety but conceded, offering him a pert nod. "Fine," he grumbled, resolving to walk her once around the house and then slip her out the Floo in the study. "Come on," he muttered gruffly, gesturing to Lily, and she slowly stepped forward, a goonish smile he'd never seen before plastered campily on her face.

"Have fun!" Fleamont called spiritedly, looking entirely too delighted as James nudged her forward, directing her up the stairs.

"What _is_ this?" he asked, the moment they were out of earshot. "Are you fucking _drunk_ , Evans?"

"No," she said, squinting at him. "Are you?"

The question was so absurd he paused mid-step, looking at her. She was smiling vacantly with an odd, un-Evanslike contentment, and he wondered momentarily if she had been inhabited by spirits.

"What?" he asked.

"What?" she echoed.

"Nevermind," he sighed. "Why are you looking for Sirius?" he asked, gesturing with his chin for them to continue walking.

"I," she began grandly, following his lead, "am experiencing severe emotional turbulence."

He glanced at her again.

"I hate to tell you this, Evans," James noted, "but you look fine."

She hated to be corrected; she _loathed_ being told things. He waited for an explosion.

"I look better than _fine_ , Potter," she chided him, and despite the expected argument, she looked rapturous with glee. "I possess a flawless complexion."

He stared at her.

"What?" he asked again, and she giggled.

She _giggled._

"Evans," he began, turning to face her—wondering how best to phrase the question _what the fuck has come over you, Evans?_ —but stopped, seeing the dreamy, absent look in her eye and remembering the phrase _severe emotional turbulence._

"Um," he grunted uncomfortably. "Are you… okay?"

"No," she informed him, without a hint of irony. "I'm quite destroyed, actually. I feel utterly shattered."

She hiccuped. He frowned.

"You were looking for Sirius to… talk?" he suggested, and despite the foreignness of the concept, she nodded. "Unfortunate," he determined, "as he's not here."

"Rats," she declared, raising her shoulders nearly to her ears in an awkwardly exaggerated shrug. Her face, James noted, was confusingly alight with an ever-present radiance; which, despite the strangeness of her behavior, served to make her look both stunningly beautiful and slightly unhinged. "I needed to tell him about my breakup with Severus."

At that, James choked, doubling over.

"Oh," she said, patting his head. "There, there."

"Evans," he sputtered, "did you say—"

"That Severus and I broke up? Yes," she confirmed, swaying a little, and James promptly erupted in a renewed fit of coughs, causing him to suspect the very air in his lungs had viciously turned on him.

"But—" he attempted, "but I didn't—"

"Ah, right, you didn't know," she recalled genially, tossing in a dainty, delighted shrug. "That was purposeful, but, alas!"

He might have thought to stop and think about the strangeness of her behavior, but he was far too distracted by the information being presented.

"Sirius knew," James echoed, registering how he'd been conspicuously silent. "Sirius _knew_?"

She glanced sideways at him. "I like him more than you," she supplied, by way of explanation.

"Well," he started, then stopped. "Fair," he finished weakly.

Lily, watching him with a pleasant, bored sort of anticipation, seemed unfazed by the weight of her admission, and so James forced himself to turn forward and continue walking, trying to process what she'd said.

So she'd really been with Severus, then. It was true. James felt momentarily horrified, horrifically stung—until he remembered they'd broken up. It was both good news and bad, but the waffling confusion was—

"Are you going to mock me now?" Lily prompted, nudging him as they continued up the stairs.

He abandoned his initial plan to lead her in a directionless circle and, instead, headed with purpose to his bedroom. It was going to be necessary to lie down.

"Shush," he told her. "I'm thinking."

He opened the door to his room and walked promptly to his bed, letting himself fall face first into the duvet.

So she'd really been with Severus Snape.

Surprisingly, James' first thought was the damned _potion_.

He remembered Severus' draught and the twisting contortion in his gut at seeing his nemesis—his _bitter rival_ —succeed. He felt it again—the writhing, the horrible aching; it was the same feeling now. The same concept of _I want_ and _I deserve_ and _I should have,_ and also _fuck potions_ and _fuck him_ and _fucking Evans—_

 _I want. I deserve. I should have._

He raised his head, squinting at her. She was perched on his bed, watching him closely, her chin still jauntily raised in some kind of wildly misplaced optimism.

"What was it you asked me?" he ventured, wondering if he were having a small stroke.

 _Fucking Evans._

"If you were going to mock me," she repeated blithely, and he sat up with a sigh.

"No," he decided, "I'm not."

"Oh, excellent," she declared gleefully. "All things considered, I'm not particularly in the mood to be teased."

"Understandable," he grumbled, then looked at her again—really _looked_ , this time, wondering if there was any hurt lingering behind the glassy weirdness of her dazed green eyes. "Are you… alright, Evans?"

"If I'm not," she began, "are you going to offer me tea?"

He groaned. "I thought no mocking," he protested, but she laughed; a warm embrace of a laugh, with a playful tap of a smile, and he stopped mid-thought, just watching her.

"Evans," he broached carefully. "Is there anything I can do?"

She seemed surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

"I feel it would be mutually beneficial if we kissed," she suggested, and he gaped at her for what he suspected may have been nearly five full minutes before speaking.

"That isn't funny," he finally determined flatly, frowning at her. "Don't fuck with me, Evans."

"Oh," she said. "Okay then." She rose, heading for the door.

"Wait!" he said instinctively, reaching out to grip her wrist. She paused, looking back at him.

"Yes?" she prompted, brows arched patiently.

"I—" he began, and immediately floundered. "Why," he decided, then nodded. "Yes. _Why_ would you ask me that?"

She looked up thoughtfully, a dreamy look of innocence passing over her features. "I don't know," she mused, seemingly charmed with her own lack of explanation. "Just a feeling, I suppose."

He stared, waiting for the joke to reveal itself, but nothing came.

"You're being serious," he posed, standing to face her. "You're not fucking with me?"

"Oh, I'm quite serious," she confirmed, making an attempt at arranging her face to accurately represent the statement and visibly failing. " _Quite_ serious." She paused. "But not Sirius," she added, in case that was in any way unclear.

James, who was exceptionally used to this type of wordplay, brushed past it. "You realize what you're saying," he pointed out. "If I were to kiss you, we'd have to, you know…"

He trailed off. She took a step closer, looking up at him. "Kiss?" she prompted.

"Yes," he confirmed, wishing the seizure he seemed to be experiencing in his chest would ease. "Precisely."

"I'm familiar with the mechanics," she assured him, tilting her head. "If that's your question. Or is it a question of your enjoyment?"

"Er, it's not," he said, the words emerging with an anxious squeak. "I trust that you are appropriately, um"— _fuck, don't look at her lips, fuck—_ "talented."

"I am," she assured him, looking smugly pleased with herself in an impish, pixie-like way. "Are you?"

"Honestly? I doubt it," he replied before he could stop himself, licking his dry lips. She considered his answer, scanning his face.

"Should I go?" she prompted thoughtfully.

"No," he said instantly, suspecting he'd die if she did.

She nodded. "So I should stay, then," she decided, her eyes on his mouth.

 _Fuck,_ he thought, searching desperately for Remus' pragmatic voice in his conscience and instead uncovering nothing but a loud, screeching demand to put his lips on hers.

"Um," he replied tentatively.

She was _mad_ , though, wasn't she? Something was obviously up—she hadn't looked even _remotely_ sane since she'd showed up at his house—so she couldn't possibly be in the right state of mind to agree to something so stupid—so foolish—so _fucking necessary—_

 _Fuck_ , he thought again, as she stepped closer, placing her hands experimentally on his chest and looking up at him, something heated and questioning in her gaze. _Fuck, fuck, fuck—_

He tore his eyes away from hers. "Not like this," he mumbled to her, and she caught his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"How, then?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he grunted, already quite inflamed with fury at himself and not wishing to bring logic into it. "Just—not like this—"

"Like this, then?" she asked tentatively, and she lifted her chin, letting her breath dance across his lips, which seemed to brush helplessly against hers of their own accord.

"Evans," he murmured, closing his eyes. "How is anyone meant to maintain any semblance of fucking self-control if you—"

But then she drifted towards him and then it was _definitely_ her lips against his, her chest pressed against him, her hands smoothing around his jaw—and fuck if he knew anymore, unable to think of anything except the way she tasted. Like chocolate at first, and then like summer. Like freedom. Like wind in his face, earth in his lungs. Like running through the forest, his hooves thudding against the ground.

Like six years of longing that melted into perfection.

"Lucky you were here," she murmured, not pulling away, her lips brushing against his as she spoke.

He swallowed. "Lucky I was," he managed, finding his mouth suddenly inconceivably dry.


	15. The Holiday

**Chapter 15: The Holiday**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: now, now—aren't you tired of asking? Advice: my darling, don't you already know? Political climate: capricious things, aren't they, politics? Like the wind of a summer storm._

* * *

 _ **December 24, 1978, 9:30 pm**_

Lily stumbled as she made her way down the sidewalk, wondering where on earth she was going and knowing in the same moment that she didn't really care. She watched the lights from the houses, heard the sounds of laughter from inside the joyful homes; she fought the immediate urge to throw herself at every door, to demand that they give her a thorough explanation as to how they could be so _selfish_ —how they could just _carry on_ while she was so broken she couldn't even cry.

It was over. _Over._

She'd said the word so many times in her mind it was starting to lose any meaning. How could he—how could _they_ —how could _she_ —

She turned a corner and shivered, feeling an icy brush of December air against her cheek. She realized her hands were shaking, her fingers were numb—she'd come with gloves, hadn't she? She'd grabbed her things in her rush to get out, to disappear, knowing this time he wouldn't come after her, _couldn't_ come after because—

 _Because this time, it was_ over _._

She shook her head, trying to force it out of her mind, trying to shove away the voices ringing in her ears— _go_ , no _stay_ , no _go, go, run,_ no _turn around,_ _stay,_ no, no _go_ —as she sifted through things in her bag, her fingers closing around a warm, narrow cylinder.

A thermos. His. She'd taken it by accident.

She stopped, pulling it out of her bag and examining it. Probably cocoa, she thought, knowing he would know (as he knew everything about her) that she loved it, and that she would want it on a cold December night. She hadn't brought anything for him, of course. Hadn't thought to do anything at all—and wasn't that just so typical of her?

She opened the thermos and sniffed it; perfect, of course. He would know just how to make it. It was still hot, charmed to stay that way; it warmed feeling back into her fingers and she sighed, hating herself more than usual. It was probably delicious, too, and she'd nearly wasted it. Wasted the effort he'd put in, as ever—

She brought it to her lips, taking a sip.

Yep. Perfect.

 _Balls._

She sighed, walking to the curb and plopping down with a grimace, taking another sip. She couldn't stand the thought of going back home, to where Tuney and _fucking_ Vernon might be getting engaged; where she'd have to just smile and say nothing, watching her sister's unbearable preening. Stupid Petunia with her horrible face and her terrible attitude and her unforgivable lack of knowledge at what she'd _only just caused._

 _Over. It was over._

No, there was no going home, Lily confirmed with a shudder. Not now.

She could always go to Marlene's, she thought, taking another long gulp and feeling the liquid as it burned comfortingly down her throat. Of course, Marlene's family would fuss; they were always spending time together, always happy, always getting along so _famously_ , always putting normal people to shame. Lily frowned as she took another sip, resolutely crossing Marlene off her list.

Mary was out too, obviously. Lily couldn't imagine telling Mary about Severus _ever,_ much less now that it was over. She never could, and wasn't that just another thing that was wrong with her? With them?

 _Over,_ her mind reminded her, and then another whisper; _your fault._

She took another drink, feeling eased by the blanket of warmth as it seemed to settle over her shoulders. She curled up in the feeling and pulled it tight around her, letting the soothing taste of the cocoa melt against her tongue and nudge invitations to her thoughts.

 _Sirius,_ her mind whispered to her. _You could talk to Sirius._

She paused mid-sip, realizing that this (for once) was actually a brilliant idea. He already knew about Severus, didn't he? He'd been understanding. He would listen, he would be kind, he would soothe her murderous conscience and ease her vengeful regrets—

 _He lives with Potter now_ , a piece of her reminded her; a piece that looked and felt like Tuney, tapping her on the shoulder and pursing its lips. _You know what that means._

 _I do not,_ she argued with herself. _It makes sense to talk to Sirius. It feels necessary._

The other piece of her seemed to shrink back, the Petunia voice getting quieter as a piece of her grew more insistent, more violent in its demand. _Go see Sirius!_ it shouted, clanging around in her mind.

 _Yes,_ she agreed, the container now empty in her hand. _Yes. That feels right._

She got to her feet, looked around, and nodded firmly. _I've got a feeling_ , she thought. _I've got hold of it, and I'm off._

* * *

 _ **December 25, 1978, 9:30 am**_

"Well, look at this, Moony."

"I see it, Padfoot."

"Are you finding it as delightful as I am?"

"Unlikely."

"True, you scarcely possess my capacity for delight."

"Don't get carried away."

"I will get precisely as carried away as I please, Moony—"

"Shush. You're going to wake them."

"As I should, frankly."

"Lay-a-beds."

"Disgraceful."

"Unforgivable, I say."

Lily cracked one eye, taking in a lungful of something clean and sharp and masculine; waking at a slow, contented pace.

Funny that she would dream of Remus and Sirius, she thought, burrowing her face deeper into her pillow before opening her eyes. She stretched out luxuriously and emitted a small, muted hum of rested satisfaction, feeling arms tighten reassuringly around her as a return sigh brushed over her hair—

 _What what what_

"Oh look, she's up."

Lily's eyes snapped open, finding with a mix of alarm and anguished displeasure that she looked directly into Sirius' laughing eyes. He and Remus were standing side by side, one of Sirius' arms slung casually over Remus' shoulders.

 _Oh no oh no oh no_

"Morning, Lils—"

"Oh _shit,_ " she declared, bolting upright and shoving aside what she now realized was _not_ a pillow and _was_ , in fact, James Potter. "Oh, what the _f-_ "

"Moony," she heard James say behind her, "perhaps you wouldn't mind waiting outside?"

"Aw," Sirius whined, "but—"

"Come on, Pads," Remus urged, yanking him.

"But Moony, it'll be so _fun—_ "

Lily drew her hands to her face, feeling her cheeks burn as the voices slowly grew more distant. She'd kissed James _bloody_ Potter, hadn't she? Like some kind of utter _moron_ —what could have possibly come over her? Could she plead temporary insanity?

She opened her mouth to say something— _whatever you think happened, Potter, consider it forgotten!—_ but stopped as James stood, walking to the door and shutting it carefully once the other two had vacated the room. She caught a rigid line of tension in his back and suddenly recalled the feeling of running her fingers along his spine, his hands tangled in her hair, her breath caught in her throat as he kissed her, slow and languid and then urgent and feverish, and how he'd picked her up and set her on the bed, crawling slowly over her, covetously kissing her neck and then—

 _Not like this,_ he said, pushing her hands aside. _Not tonight. This is one thing, but_ that—

 _I want to,_ she heard herself whine. _I think we should—_

 _Someday,_ he told her, his hazel eyes intent and hungry, _someday, I plan to—_ and she shivered at the promise—

But then he had gathered her in his arms, tucked her head against his chest and held her until she fell asleep; taking in the smell of him, clean and sharp and masculine. She felt her breath come easier, recalling that it had been nothing, really, just a kiss—almost nothing— _very nearly_ nothing—

"I figured you'd react this way," he said in a low voice, turning to face her and crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed her with his back leaned against the door. "Were you drinking or something?"

"No I wasn't _drinking or something_ ," she snapped. "I just—I was—"

"You what?" he prompted, his face uncharacteristically serious. "I'll wait."

She gaped at him. "What?"

"I want an explanation, Evans," he said wearily, rubbing his temple. In her confusion at his patience, she wished momentarily to strangle him—or at least to make him suffer via harshly barbed words.

"Momentary lapse of judgment, then," she determined sharply, glaring at him. His shirt was unbuttoned partway—which she now remembered was her own handiwork—and she got another glimpse of his chest, which she was furious to find still gleamed with perfection. "I was sad. I don't know." She straightened, intent on not indicating the inner turmoil that was her unquestionable enjoyment. Even over the pang of recalling her fight with Severus—which was still a lingering throb in her chest—she was hopelessly distracted by the taste of him on her tongue.

 _God, his lips, his hands—_ "It was nothing," she said curtly, shoving his kiss out of her mind.

James brought his hand to his mouth, watching her. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," she confirmed briskly. "Absolutely _nothing_. Just a stupid, meaningless—"

She faltered as he suddenly embarked on a series of long strides towards her, stopping inches away from her face and looking her in the eye. She stared at him, striving for words and arriving at stunned silence, and he leaned over, speaking low in her ear.

"Nothing?" he asked again, his breath tickling her neck.

 _Oh no oh no oh no_

He pulled back to look at her and her gaze went straight to his lips.

"Nothing," she whispered.

* * *

James stared at the flush of her cheeks and knew there were volumes she wasn't telling him. He certainly knew Lily Evans well enough to know when she was lying, and the ' _nothing'_ she was so carefully murmuring was two syllables of absolute bollocks. He'd rarely seen her be so astonishingly transparent; it was an easy conclusion. She was definitely lying.

The _why_ of the lie was a different matter altogether, of course, and an explanation that he doubted he would arrive the moment the door burst open behind him.

"Moony," James said exasperatedly, "I _said—_ "

"Oh, good morning, darling," his mother said briskly, breezing in the doorway and sweeping around the room, charming the curtains open. James hastily buttoned his shirt, glaring at Lily, who—rightfully—seemed equally alarmed.

"I'd heard you had a visitor, dear," Euphemia continued. "I just thought I'd stop in before she joins us for brunch—you _are_ joining us, aren't you?"

James looked over in shock, realizing that as her words seemed to suggest, his mother was indeed looking patiently at Lily for an answer.

"Her, you mean?" James clarified, gesturing.

"Me?" Lily squeaked.

"Yes, _you_ , dear," Euphemia confirmed, giving her a prim nod, and James smirked a little at Lily's wide-eyed expression of disbelief. "Unless there is someone else hidden in here?"

Euphemia then proceeded to open the wardrobe, making a show of peeking in. His mother loved to play the role of dotty old woman, James knew, but all appearances aside, she was a witch whose questions were usually commands, and he was appropriately concerned about the trajectory of the conversation.

"Mother," James sighed, "I think Evans was just leav-"

" _Miss_ Evans, James," Euphemia reminded him, coming over to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Oh, and Happy Christmas, darling."

"Happy Christmas," James mumbled back, "and _Miss_ Evans—"

"I was just leaving, Mrs Potter," Lily cut in earnestly. "I really hadn't meant to impose, and I'm _so_ sorry if I've overstepped—"

"Nonsense, you must stay!" Euphemia insisted. "I've already asked Paul to set a place for you, dear."

"Paul?" Evans echoed.

"Our house elf," James supplied irritably before turning back to his mother. "Is this Sirius' doing?" he demanded. "He is such a nosy brute of a best friend, I swear, I'd have done better in another train compartment—"

"Your house elf's name is Paul?" Lily interrupted faintly.

"Yes," Euphemia told her, "and James, dear, Sirius didn't say a word. Your father had merely noted that the Floo had not been used since Miss Evans—"

"Lily," Lily offered, "and when you say _Paul_ , is that perhaps short for 'Pollop' or—"

"It's just Paul, dear," Euphemia returned kindly, "and as I was saying—"

"Father's put you up to this, then?" James demanded crossly. "Of course he has. It just _reeks_ of his unstable optimism—"

"James," Euphemia said warningly, and he sighed.

"Fine," James muttered. "Sorry, Mother."

"Excellent," Euphemia declared, clapping her hands together in satisfaction. "So you'll invite Lily, then?"

"She's _right here,_ Mother," James scoffed, "I think she _knows_ she's invited—"

"James Linfred Potter," Euphemia said firmly. "Invite her to breakfast. _Dear_ ," she added, giving him a saccharine smile that was laced with a vehement ' _or else_ ' that he shuddered to consider.

 _Linfred?_ Lily mouthed, and James threw his hands up in unwilling defeat.

"Fine," he barked. " _Miss_ Evans—"

"Lily," Euphemia corrected, and Lily gave him a smirky nod.

"Oh, for the love of—"

" _James—_ "

" _Lily_ ," James sighed, noting with displeasure that Lily was giggling into her hand, "would you join us for brunch?" He looked up at his mother, who pursed her lips. "Please," he added, teeth clenched, and Euphemia smiled, nodding pleasantly.

"Um," Lily began, and James crossed his fingers for a refusal that he knew was unlikely to be accepted. "I _do_ have to get home soon—"

At the slight flicker in Euphemia's smile, Lily, too, sighed in concession. "But I suppose if you've already set a place," she offered lamely, and then there was a loud bang as Sirius, who must have been listening from the hallway, bounded into the room, followed by an only slightly less smug Remus.

"We've got her, Lady P," Sirius declared, throwing Lily over his shoulder and turning to carry her downstairs. "Remus and I will make sure she's comfortable, seeing as _James_ here has no manners to speak of—"

"Be gentle, Sirius!" Euphemia called after him, smiling fondly as Lily shrieked to be put down. "Now," she said curtly, turning to James as the other three disappeared, "what's all this about you insisting on being so unpleasant?"

"Just my natural flavor, Mother," James muttered, and Euphemia perched on his bed with a sigh, gesturing for him to sit beside her.

"Darling, you have the most wonderful disposition when you're not being so sulky," she informed him, smoothing his hair back affectionately and smiling at him.

"No I don't," he argued, "and more relevantly, I'm not sulky."

She gave him a disapproving glance. "James," she said, lifting his chin to look at him. "What is it you're so worried about?"

"Nothing," James grumbled back, recalling the pang of the word on Lily's lips. _Nothing._

"Are you certain of that?" Euphemia prodded.

James shrugged, deciding on silence.

"Ah, the trials of the heart," Euphemia determined sagely, nodding once. "Well. She seems lovely," she mused reassuringly, as though that were in any way the issue in question. "I'm quite sure I'll like her."

"You will," James sighed. "That's the problem."

 _So do I._

"To be fair, I like everyone when I've got a little Buck's Fizz in me," Euphemia offered briskly, rising to her feet and gesturing for him to join her. "Come on, darling. Brunch waits for no man. Oh," she added, turning to put a hand on his shoulder. "And be yourself, would you, dear?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter which self I am," James told her, putting an arm around her waist as they walked. "Evans hates them all."

"That's the spirit," Euphemia said encouragingly, leaning over to kiss her son's cheek.

* * *

Darian untied the small bit of parchment from the familiar owl's leg and scanned it quickly.

 _Took the Mark yesterday. A bitch, isn't it?_

 _See you tonight._

 _C_

He smiled for a moment, but then quickly remembered himself and looked down his nose at the owl.

"Shoo," he advised, waving his hand impatiently. The owl blinked haughtily at him before turning to face out the window, clipping Darian's shoulder with its wing before taking off.

Darian folded the note from Caleb and put it in his pocket before striding into the hall; he figured it was best to spend time with his mother before she indulged in her afternoon aperitif. Christmas and all that, he reasoned, dreading it already.

"Father," he called, "have you seen—"

But at the sight of his father entertaining an altogether unpleasant guest, he stopped abruptly in his tracks, catching the swollen, grubby form of a certain detestable Gryffindor Darian would have sooner stabbed with a butter knife than seen in the foyer of his home.

"Darian," the elder Mulciber said briskly, gesturing for him to join them. "You did not inform me you had invited a friend to join us."

"I didn't think that I had, sir," Darian said through gritted teeth, coming unhappily to stand between his father and the abominable intrusion that was Peter Pettigrew. "Though I'm sure Pettigrew here has obligations of his own, and won't be staying long."

He glared at Peter, daring him to disagree.

"I'd only stopped by to return Darian's notes from class," Peter said, his voice thick and syrupy with Sirius Black's slow, affectatious drawl. "I regret that the occasion is so inconvenient, of course, but I'd hoped to ease the interruption by passing on some holiday wishes." He gestured to the bottle of Ogden's that Darian's father appreciatively held. "As I say, I wouldn't wish to take too much of your time."

"Pettigrew, you said?" Mulciber Sr ventured thoughtfully. "Any relation to Hestia Pettigrew, the famous potioneer?"

 _Scanning for blood purity, no doubt,_ Darian thought, realizing that he himself did not know the value of Pettigrew's name.

"My great-aunt," Pettigrew said cheerfully, though Darian suspected this, like everything that had come before it, was a lie. "Anyway," he offered, turning to Darian, "mind if I just review one thing in your notes with you before I pass them off? Had a bit of a struggle with your penmanship." He looked back at Mulciber Sr, shrugging. "Not the calligrapher of the family, I'm guessing?"

Darian felt sick as his father laughed, nodding his emphatic confirmation. "No, Darian's not one to take his time on things," Mulciber agreed, flashing Darian a grimace of displeasure. "Or else he'd have a Head Boy badge, not just Prefect."

Darian looked down furiously, trying not to let his father see the dark look of insubordination that he was sure skated across his features. "I've told you, sir," he said quietly, "Dumbledore insists on playing favorites—"

"I'm sure he prefers his snivelling parade of Gryffindors"—at that, Peter quickly averted his gaze—"but you must make him sit up and take notice," Mulciber concluded gruffly. Darian kept his eyes downcast but could see that Pettigrew bore a strange, unplaceable expression on his face as he watched father and son interact. "Lucius Malfoy managed to be Head Boy, and yet _you_ are content to let a mudblood and a muggle sympathizer outshine you—"

"Perhaps," Peter cut in smoothly, "it might be safe to assume Darian has other ambitions. He certainly commands respect from all students," he added, forcing Darian to hide a look of utter confusion. "Surely there are bigger things for him than simply Head Boy under Dumbledore's purview?"

Darian held his breath, glancing at his father.

"True," Mulciber determined after a moment, giving them a curt nod before appearing to lose interest. "Be quick about this, would you?" he added, nodding brusquely at Darian. "Your mother will want to sit with you before dinner."

"Yes, sir," Darian said, giving his father a respectful nod and waiting for him to disappear before rounding on Peter. "What the fuck was that?" he hissed. "And since when do _you_ talk about Dumbledore like that?"

"Give me some credit," Peter said irritably. "I know how to read a room."

There was something intangibly familiar in Peter's tone—like he was imitating Darian back to himself—and it made Darian unspeakably uncomfortable.

"I will give you precisely as much credit as I judge you to be due," Darian returned, attempting to keep his voice low. "Which, to be fucking clear, is _none_."

"Might want to consider a recalculation," Peter pointedly replied. "Or is there _not_ a reason that you didn't kick me out on first sight?"

"I couldn't," Darian replied bitterly, "because _you_ —"

"Because I _know things_ ," Peter reminded him, grinning obnoxiously. "And between what you and I know, I think you can admit more credit is owed."

Darian scowled; Peter was right, of course, but saying so wouldn't help anything. "What the _fuck_ is it that you're here for?"

"I'm so glad you asked," Peter said smoothly, as Darian fought not to slap him. "As it happens, I'm in the market for a new circle of friends."

"And you came to _me_ ," Darian scoffed. "The person you're blackmailing?"

"Not exactly," Peter said, with all the stuffy correctness of Remus Lupin. "Already got what I came for, if I'm being honest," he added, jutting his chin in the direction Darian's father had gone.

Darian bit back an instant retort of _just leave, then,_ before realizing he was stung with bitter interest by what the fuck _'already got what I came for'_ could possibly mean.

"Seems like you already made a habit of ingratiating yourself with your betters," Darian commented after a moment, attempting to obscure his demand for explanation with indifference. "Twats that they are, Black and Potter are certainly better-looking and smarter than you."

Peter seemed unaffected by the slight. "Better-looking, certainly," he agreed, with all self-consciousness of someone who had lived their life with that knowledge. "Smarter, though," he ventured, trailing off and shrugging. "I'd say that depends."

"What's got you looking elsewhere?" Darian prompted gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Seems like one group of golden Gryffindors should be enough for a lifetime."

"I consider myself informed enough to know when the tide is about to turn," Peter offered nonchalantly. "I've always been quite skilled at aligning myself properly."

 _True enough,_ Darian thought with a rush of revulsion.

"And now you think _I'm_ the one to align with?" Darian echoed skeptically.

"Not exactly," Peter said again, and Darian flinched at his continued ambiguity. He waited, but Peter didn't elaborate.

"I'm surprised you find Potter and Black so disposable," Darian murmured. "Surely it was no easy feat earning their trust to begin with."

"I appealed to their better natures," Peter supplied, shrugging. "But seeing as you don't have one, I'm tasked with uncovering leverage elsewhere."

"Leverage," Darian repeated angrily, and Peter nodded—the firm, obnoxious nod of someone who knew more than they should.

"For example," Pettigrew mused facetiously, "I might have guessed at daddy issues, but seeing them in action is—" He smiled, teeth flashing. "Rewarding."

Darian suddenly understood that the look on Peter's face while watching the elder Mulciber berate his son wasn't sympathy.

It was greed.

"You really are a fucking rat," Darian said tightly, clenching his hands into fists.

"Harsh, but fair," Peter determined, shrugging.

"Are you looking to rescind your demands, then?" Darian pressed after a moment, wondering if there was an opening to be had and scraping for a victory from what was decidedly a floundering performance on his behalf. "No longer concerned with Evans' safety?"

"No," Peter said bluntly. "No change. She's not part of this. She's not to be harmed."

 _Well, fuck._ "And the others?" Darian prompted.

To his surprise, Pettigrew hesitated. "I—they're—"

For the first time, Darian glimpsed something in the other boy's eyes that he knew how to use; _fear._

"You arrive at the decision to approach me, but you haven't made up your mind about them?" Darian asked in disbelief. "Do you think this is all some kind of fucking _game_?"

"They're cutting me out," Peter insisted stubbornly, his voice suddenly childish and spiteful. "It's like they've forgotten I exist, despite what I've done for them—keeping Lily safe," he muttered, half to himself, "being part of all their stupid schemes—"

"This is not a matter of fucking— _hurt feelings_ , or injured prides," Darian cut in, snarling gracelessly at discovering himself a tool in Peter's pathetic attempt at vengeance. "I'm not here to comfort you while you cry over being left out."

"It's not that," Peter sniffed determinedly, "it's just—"

"The world—and the tide that you so _aptly_ note is changing," Darian interrupted mockingly, "will not leave room for you to waver in the middle." His voice was low and cold. "You cannot arrive at my house and taunt me with your _leverage_ unless you are prepared to act. You know what they stand for," he added, scowling at the thought. "Potter and Black. More importantly, you know what they stand _against_."

"Yes," Peter permitted hesitantly, "but—"

Darian, having finally regained the upper hand, took a step toward him, feeling victorious as the shorter, pudgier boy shrank back, beady eyes traveling nervously over the tense hold of Darian's shoulders.

"You only play at fighting with the big dogs, don't you?" Darian murmured, taking another step to prove it and laughing coldly as Peter leapt back. "You learned Black's bark, but not his bite."

Gratifyingly, Pettigrew said nothing; he only shook slightly, finally stripped of his layers of duplicity.

"Better choose a side, rat," Darian cautioned, a smile he knew to be cruel slipping effortlessly over his lips. "You can only play in the middle for so long."


	16. The Reliability

**Chapter 16: The Reliability**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: perhaps a dozen more than you think. Stop: talking. Stop: thinking. Political climate: what do you fear more, the thunder or the lightning? One rumbles, the other strikes._

* * *

"Lil," Marlene said, waving to get her attention. "You coming?"

"What? Yeah," Lily said vacantly, blinking.

"What are you looking at?" Marlene asked curiously, following her gaze.

"Nothing," Lily supplied instantly, forging ahead. She grabbed hold of Marlene—who was still looking around—and pulled her into the compartment, settling herself against the window.

She knew perfectly well what she'd been looking at, of course. It had been James Linfred Potter—stupid, terrible, _improbably good kisser_ Potter—throwing back his unruly head of hair as he laughed at Sirius' joke, his hazel eyes crinkled behind his stupid, terrible glasses that made him look both impossibly ridiculous and violently appealing. The last thing she wanted was for Marlene to notice.

Well, more accurately, the _last_ thing she wanted was for Mary to notice, or perhaps Severus—the thought of whom obviously still stung—but Marlene was certainly on the list of undesirables.

It had been far more difficult than Lily could have predicted to put James Potter out of her head. She still hadn't come up with anything as to how she ended up kissing him to begin with; aside from the obvious possibilities—temporary insanity, surely, or early-onset dementia—she was having difficulty reconciling the fact that she'd thrown herself from a traumatic, earth-shattering breakup directly into the kind of kiss that made her throb urgently from her core just _thinking_ about it. Under normal circumstances, breakfast with his elderly parents should have served to ease the appeal, but for some hell-on-earth reason, it _didn't_. He'd only been more relaxed, and with every careless move of his mouth— _every goddamn word on his lips_ —she had grown more and more distracted.

"What's James' punishment going to be, Lady P?" Sirius had asked, ignoring Remus' elbow to the ribs as he grinned at Potter's mother. "You know. For having a _girl_ in his- fucking _ouch_ , Moony, be gentle, would you?"

"Language," Euphemia warned affectionately, though she looked as though the thought of punishing Sirius for anything had never occurred to her in her life. "Besides, didn't Lily come to see _you,_ dear?"

"Did she?" Sirius asked, his brow furrowing. "Did you, Lils?"

"Yes," James confirmed, cutting in quickly as Lily opened her mouth to answer. "But seeing as you were fast asleep— _here_ ," he clarified emphatically, "in _this house—"_

"Notably deep sleeper, this one," Remus agreed, offering such a gravely solemn nod toward Sirius that it forced Lily to choke on a laugh.

"Oh, stop it, James, we know perfectly well Sirius wasn't here last night," Euphemia sighed. "Your efforts are admirable, darling, but thoroughly wasted."

"Ah, so same as usual," James replied casually, his eyes straying meaningfully to Lily's as his lips twisted up in an unreadable smile.

She tried at first to roll her eyes; to mouth _shut up, Potter,_ and brush him off like always—but for some reason, her breath had simply caught in her throat as her brain chose that moment to serve her the memory of his voice in her ear. _Nothing?_ he'd asked, like he'd known she was lying.

Which she definitely, _definitely_ was, but again, there was no possible way that she was going to admit that to—

"James," his father said, smiling fondly at him. "Perhaps you might pass Lily the cranberry sauce?"

"She doesn't like cranberries," James replied indifferently, and she turned to face him with surprise. "What?" he asked, shrugging. "You don't."

She did not. However, she certainly wasn't about to let Potter think he _knew_ her.

 _Nothing?_ she heard him whisper, like he'd known it was a lie. This time, the particular shade of his hazel eyes struck her with an only _slightly_ less alarming jolt.

"I don't know where you're getting that from," she sniffed, indulging a sudden desire to be obstinate. "Since when have I ever discussed my feelings on cranberries with you?"

"Evans, I've sat through _how_ many meals with you now?" he prompted, exhibiting the kind of pretend exasperation that she knew meant he was entirely too pleased with himself, and which she did not appreciate. "It's hardly escaped my attention that you"—he paused, his face twisting exaggeratedly into what was clearly meant to be an imitation of her cranberry-induced revulsion—" _every_ time you see them."

She growled a little internally; which, unhelpfully, only served to remind her of his breath against her neck, and the sound of satisfaction he'd made when his lips met hers.

 _Stupid, terrible James Potter,_ she thought, infuriated by both the expression on his face and the detestable uncooperativeness of her brain.

"I do not," she countered crossly, gesturing towards the small porcelain bowl. "Pass the cranberry sauce, would you, Sirius?" she asked, milking a feigned sweetness out of her tone as she pointedly avoided James' doubtful gaze.

"Um," Sirius replied, furrowing his brow as his eyes darted quickly to Remus. "This is a trap of some kind, isn't it, Moony?"

"Oh, with certainty," Remus confirmed with a nod, reaching down to pat Sirius' knee under the table. "I'd stay out of it, personally."

"I feel like I should do it, though," Sirius said slowly, inching his fingers toward the bowl as Remus promptly slapped his hand.

"Don't," he threatened warningly, adding a second slap for emphasis. "It's for your own good."

"Remus!" Lily exclaimed, sighing exasperatedly as she waited. "Just _pass_ the sauce, would you?"

"Yes, go on, Moony, do it," Sirius urged, wide-eyed. "It could be fun!"

"Oh _please_ ," James drawled, finally rising from his seat to reach over and place the sauce directly in front of her. "Allow _me_ , Evans," he offered pompously, sparing her a clumsy, irreverent bow that she met with a murderous glare.

From the end of the table, Lily heard a tiny, stifled chuckle; she realized it was James' father, hiding a laugh behind his hand.

"Thank you," she said stiffly, pausing to offer James a look of thorough indignation. "I'm sure _these_ cranberries are wonderful," she added, ladling the sauce liberally over her food. She had no idea what foods merited a dressing of cranberries, but determined the details to be unimportant; priority was to meet James Potter's eye with a brutally unchecked, probably ill-advised smirk.

To her frustration, James only looked entertained.

"Looks _delicious_ , Evans," he taunted, though at a small cough from his mother, he sighed. "Looks delicious, _Lily_ ," he amended, muttering it under his breath. "Go on," he added, looking unforgivably smug at her obvious hesitation. "Have a bite, won't you?"

"I'm about to," she informed him, loading an overlarge forkful of smoked salmon and baked eggs beneath a glop of horrible crimson mucus. "See?" she offered, trying to prevent her nose from wrinkling as she brought her fork to her mouth. " _Mmm,_ " she added for effect, fighting not to gag at the wafting acidity she'd hated since she was a child.

"Well, go on, Evans." James crossed his arms over his chest, looking entirely too delighted for Lily's liking. "Have at it."

"I'm trying to savor it!" she snapped, entirely repulsed. For a moment she glanced helplessly at Remus, but he only shrugged.

"I'm not part of this," he warned, eyes glinting with something she suspected was a particularly cruel amusement, and beside him, Sirius pouted.

"Not for lack of trying," he muttered, making a face as Remus elbowed him sharply. "For _fuck's sake_ , Moony—"

"Sirius," Euphemia sighed. "Darling, _please_ —"

"Do you not want it, Evans?" James taunted, grinning mercilessly as he watched her stare morosely at her fork. "Are you perhaps recalling that I am _correct_ , and that you, in fact, are—"

"James," Euphemia cautioned sharply, though Lily noted with a minor grumble that the older witch looked positively elated, and across the table, her husband was shaking with quiet laughter.

"Potter, I _love_ cranberries!" Lily half-shouted, closing her eyes and shoveling the fork into her mouth. "Mhphmh?" she supplied, gesturing to her mouth and trying desperately not to spit the horrifying mixture of items back onto her plate.

"Say again, Evans?" James said gleefully, cupping his hand around his ear. "Did you say that I was right, and you _do_ hate cranberries?"

She wanted badly—so, _so_ badly—to hex the unbearable smirk off his face, but she couldn't manage to distract herself from the horrendous taste of cranberry in her mouth, feeling an immediate urge to wipe her tongue off with her napkin. She glared at him, prepared to retort that under _no uncertain terms_ was he right, and in fact, she'd _loved_ it—she was prepared to lick her awful, shudder-inducing plate clean if she absolutely had to—but she stopped, seeing a genuine look of enjoyment spread over his face. Much to her chagrin, she felt herself smile against her will as he doubled over laughing.

She wondered if he had always been that handsome when he laughed, or if it was only a recent development, something planted in her mind to slowly deliver her from any remaining sanity she possessed.

"Lily," Mary said, snapping her fingers in front of her face. "Are you listening?"

"What?" Lily asked, jolted back to the present, trying to forget the way James had leaned towards her. _I know you hate it,_ he'd murmured in her ear, prompting all kinds of renewed torture that had nothing whatsoever to do with cranberries, _so for what you've just endured, I'll let you have the win._

"I _said_ , what did you do for Christmas?" Mary asked again, crossing her arms impatiently.

"Um," Lily replied. "Nothing," she lied, hearing James' voice in her ear and shivering.

* * *

Severus had thought _one thing_ had managed to go his way when he procured an empty compartment on the way back to Hogwarts; he was wrong again, of course, which he promptly realized as Caleb and Darian slid inside, settling themselves across from him with such ease he was momentarily astounded.

He had forgotten, mostly, that other people's lives had gone on even after he'd lost Lily. Unlike them, Severus had been trapped inside his house, scarcely recalling there was a world outside its walls—and if that reminder were not enough to make the whole journey sickening, his stomach churned at the thought that he was now _here_ , on the train once again, undertaking the very route he'd been so foolish to think she might have circumvented for him. For a moment he considered that maybe he should not return to the castle, even without her; that whether she believed him or not, he was better off outside its walls. His mother would say nothing. He himself would not miss much.

But, of course, whether Lily wanted him or not, he couldn't leave her safety to chance. And so he'd returned, and now some laughing deity had seen fit to punish him gruesomely for his selflessness.

"So," Darian said merrily. "Happy Christmas, was it?"

Severus sighed. "Shouldn't you be in a meeting somewhere?" he asked glumly. "Or with Rosier or something?"

"Ah, did Head Girl not inform you?" Darian mused, and Severus chest tightened painfully. "No meetings until we get back to the castle."

"And as for Rosier, why choose him when we can have you?" Caleb offered, with a filthy, meaning-ridden smile. "Funny you wouldn't be sitting here with _her_ , of course—"

"Though she wasn't much for public displays to begin with, was she?" Darian offered. Severus wished instantly to curse them both, if only to spare himself their horrific double act of painfully transparent manipulation.

"Save it," he muttered, looking at his hands where he folded them in his lap. "You don't need to be coy about poisoning my relationship with her anymore." He glanced up at Darian, swallowing. "The previous episodes served sufficient," he clarified, trying desperately to look like he didn't care.

He was sure he failed—the glimmer in Darian's eyes served to indicate that much was likely—but that hardly seemed important. He returned his gaze to his lap, not wishing to see the cruel smiles slip over either face.

"Ah, there you go again," Caleb said, turning to Darian. "Always underestimating your own efficiency."

"It's true, I never give myself enough credit," Darian said with a dramatic sigh. "But, excellent news for you, of course," he continued, slinking down to nudge Severus' foot with his, forcing him to look up. "As this finally means you won't have to be so secretive."

Severus looked at him in disbelief. Darian seemed to genuinely believe that was a good thing.

"Ah, 1978," Caleb remarked, making a show of pairing a slow inhale with a deliberate sigh of satisfaction. "Starting off with a delightful twist."

"Whatever you've got planned, I still want no part of it," Severus said gruffly, his sullen glance darting between them. "Just because I'm not _with_ her doesn't mean—"

"You know," Darian cut in slowly, a hazy grin spreading over his features, "I like how reliable you are, Sev." He turned to Caleb. "So hard to find these days, isn't it?"

"Reliability?" Caleb echoed. "So true. Unless, of course—"

"—it borders on _predictability_ ," Darian finished, and Severus felt his pulse throb painfully, knowing them both far too well to presume innocence. "And isn't it such a pity when people cross that line?"

"Oh, certainly," Caleb agreed, offering Darian a solemn nod. "Dangerous indeed."

"For example, I presume you wish our deal to stand?" Darian asked, blinking innocently at Severus. "That the discretions that passed between us are to remain between us?"

Severus said nothing; once again, he felt entirely trapped. It had been bad enough to lose her; worse still to lose her and _still_ not be able to shed the bitter secrecy that had forced them apart. But he could not imagine, even as things were—even without her—that he could stand for her to know what he'd done.

"A yes, I think," Caleb determined, tapping a finger against his lips and nudging Darian's knee with his. "Seems Sev still has secrets to keep after all."

He hung his head, entirely lost for words. Everything had changed, and yet nothing had changed.

 _Nothing_ had changed.

"Seems that way," Darian agreed, tossing in a curt nod. "So, with things being what they are—"

"What do you want from me?" Severus erupted loudly, glaring at them both and rising to his feet. "What do you _want_?"

Darian had the tact to look ever so slightly startled by his motion; Caleb, however, was unfazed.

"I think you know what we want, Severus," Caleb reminded him quietly. "And if not—"

"If not," Darian cut in slowly, "we'll be sure to inform you when your services are needed."

Severus shook his head, wishing he'd just stayed home.

"I hate you both," he said, before promptly exiting the compartment.

* * *

As the door slammed behind Severus, Darian nodded his grim satisfaction.

"As ever, I'd say that went reasonably well," he concluded. "He looked worse off than usual, which was a bit jarring."

"Love and fear," Caleb pointed out. "He's had them both for quite some time. Perhaps now he has neither."

Darian frowned. "Is it possibly more difficult now, then?" he asked, gesturing toward the door Severus had just exited. "He seemed a bit too deflated to have much urgency about him at this point."

Caleb turned, looking sharply at him. "You sound vaguely discouraged," he commented, concern etched into his features. Darian wondered momentarily who, exactly, the concern was for.

"Not so much _discouraged_ as requiring a new mechanism to spur performance," Darian argued, sitting up straight. "He was afraid to lose her, but he's already done that." He shrugged. "What's to keep him from fucking disengaging altogether?"

"The _relationship_ is over," Caleb said pointedly. "The devotion is not."

"He _will_ still try to keep her safe," Darian agreed quietly, bringing a hand to his temple and wondering why he suddenly felt a trickle of insecurity at the thought of his own plotting. "Fuck. The rat really wormed his way into my confidence."

Caleb's expression darkened moodily. He had been even more disturbed than Darian to hear of Peter Pettigrew's clumsy grasps at leverage; though, between the two of them, Caleb seemed less inclined to acknowledge any legitimacy those claims might have. Darian, on the other hand, felt sick at the thought.

"There's no reason to doubt your plan," Caleb reminded him, shrugging. "There's no reason Severus ever has to know that he isn't the one responsible for Evans' safety."

"True," Darian acknowledged with a sigh. "Though I could use… _something_ ," he considered, pursing his lips in thought. "Something to cement his involvement, I mean."

"Something like a spell written in his own hand?" Caleb asked, and Darian frowned, wondering what had prompted the hypothetical. "Something of his own fascinating and _terrible_ invention?"

"That would be one thing," Darian agreed slowly, "but where would I—"

"You'll have to teach him to take better care of his things," Caleb remarked briskly, tutting softly as he leaned forward to pick up the loose leaf of parchment that had fallen to the ground upon Severus' rising.

They both recognized Severus' handwriting, permitting twin smiles.

"Perhaps I should," Darian agreed slowly. "Though, why am _I_ to be the one responsible for teaching him?" he added, making a face.

"Well," Caleb said, offering him a smirk so telling that Darian nearly had to swallow a whimper. "You do take _such_ good care of things," he clarified, his gaze unwavering as he brought Darian's hand to the button of his trousers.

* * *

"So what did your father have to say about Lily?" Remus asked. "Or your mother, for that matter."

 _I like her,_ Euphemia had mouthed across the table, winking at James. _Marry that girl,_ Fleamont had determined, clasping James' shoulder fondly.

"They said she was a decently pleasant breakfast guest and that any and all questions should be firmly directed elsewhere," James sniffed. "Were you expecting more?"

Sirius and Remus exchanged glances.

"Less, actually," Sirius said, shrugging. "Though 'decently pleasant' seems more like a Prongs-ism than anything, doesn't it—"

"Hey," Peter chirped, suddenly chiming in as they walked. "Prongs, I meant to ask you—do you think it's possible that the map might be—" He paused, hesitating. "Wrong?"

"Wrong?" James echoed, frowning. "What does that mean, _wrong_?"

"Let me take this one," Remus sighed, doubling back to walk beside Peter as Sirius and James continued at a brisk stride. "What's it doing?" James heard him ask, and Peter muttered back.

"I just—I thought I saw—"

"I have a question," Sirius asserted loudly, turning to glare preemptively at James. "Why haven't you told us what happened with Lils?"

"I already _have_ ," James sighed, feigning irritability and fighting the rush of blood that went straight to his head at the memory. " _Nothing_ happened."

 _Nothing,_ she'd said, her eyes traveling straight to his lips.

"I find that both impossible and unacceptable," Sirius declared, languidly tossing his head to displace his hair from his eyes. "You're really telling me that nothing happened between you two? You just, fucking, _what_ then—"

"She was sad, and she fell asleep," James supplied nonchalantly. "Or are you suggesting that after _all these years_ ," he drawled wickedly, feeling immensely pleased with himself, "if something had happened with Evans, I wouldn't immediately shout about it to you?"

"True," Sirius acknowledged with a growl, smirking. "At this point, I can't decide if this is a catastrophic blow to my staunch belief that something would someday happen between you two," he added indifferently, "or if I'm just disappointed in you as a man."

"The latter, I'm sure," James assured him smoothly. "Though I've been telling you, haven't I? I've no interest in Evans."

The lie had a new, intriguing flavor to it, now that he knew just how flaming a lie it really was. He thought of her green eyes and the feel of her hands on him and he just _burned_ , decimated by the memory.

 _Nothing_ , she'd said.

The liar.

"Sure you don't," Remus agreed, catching up with them and throwing both arms fondly over James and Sirius' shoulders.

"How'd it go?" James asked, twisting around to look at Peter. "Professor Lupin figure it out for you, then?"

"Wormtail decided it was probably just a mistake on his part," Remus supplied ambivalently. Peter, still stumbling after them, said nothing, looking lost in thought. "Thought he saw someone who wasn't there, I guess."

"Who did you see?" James asked curiously. "Or did you—"

He trailed off, rounding the corner and catching a glimpse of darkened red hair glinting in front of the Venus. "Oh no," he muttered, knowing immediately there was trouble.

Sirius chuckled. "See you, Prongs," he called, tossing in a gratuitous wink and tugging at Remus' belt loops, eager to disappear. Behind them, Peter scurried in their wake, still looking thoughtful; James made a note to check in with him, though he suspected he would forget.

"Evans," he said, catching up to her and glancing up at the Venus, who appeared to be braiding tiny metallic seashells into her hair. "Having problems?"

Lily, predictably, flashed him an irritable scowl. "You could say that," she muttered unhappily. " _Someone_ ," she added, glaring at the Venus, "seems to have gotten even less attentive over the Christmas holiday."

At that, the Venus looked up, smiling at James. He offered her a small wave and she blew him a kiss, giggling.

Lily's frown deepened. "Did you just—"

"What?" James remarked indignantly, shrugging. "I'm just being _friendly,_ Evans, you should really _try_ it—"

She glared at him in answer before turning back to the Venus. "Listen," she said, teeth gritted as she forced pleasantness, "I'm sure you and I both agree there's no need to get Professor Dumbledore involved, but if I _have_ to—"

"Oh, come on, Evans," James sighed, rolling his eyes. "Here, let me—"

"I don't need your help!" Lily squawked, brusquely knocking him aside.

"Fuck me, Evans," he grunted, clutching his side as she clipped him with her elbow. "Why are you so _sharp—_ "

In retaliation, he checked her hip with his, sending her skidding in the opposite direction. "Now," he said, facing the Venus, "as I was saying— _Evans_!"

She had pushed him gracelessly aside. "As _I_ was saying," she growled at the Venus, "I really must insist that you _do your job—_ "

James lunged in front of her, struggling against her thrashing limbs. The Venus, who had abandoned the construction of her braid, giggled again, watching them with her chin propped delicately on one hand. "Sanare Pura," he managed breathlessly, followed immediately by, "Evans, for the sake of _all the fucks_ —"

Just then, the portrait obligingly swung open, smacking James in the face and prompting him to double over, swearing loudly as Lily brushed past him.

"You're _welcome_ ," he shouted, glaring at her retreating form as he climbed inside and let the portrait fall shut behind him.

She whipped around, her dark auburn hair fanning out in a shimmering arc as she turned. "Oh _I'm_ welcome, am I?" she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are _unbearable_ , Potter—"

" _I'm_ unbearable?" he demanded, stalking furiously to where she had stopped just shy of heading up the stairs. "You spend half your time fighting for dominance with a _portrait_ , Evans, who isn't even _real_ —"

"I don't know why you think you've rescued me just by opening the front door!" she yelled back, putting her hands on his chest and shoving him. She was surprisingly strong considering her smallness, and his mind wandered unwillingly to the slim curve of her waist under his hands. "You're an absolute _sackful_ of arrogance, Potter—"

"Is it really _my_ fault that you can't get inside your own room?" James countered furiously, and this time as she moved to shove him again—out of pure, unmitigated frustration, he presumed, which was a compulsion he could relate to—he caught her flailing hands, gripping them against his chest. "You're really going to tell me this is _my_ fault?"

"Of _course_ it's your fault!" she shouted back. He could feel her fingers bearing down on him through his sweater and he remembered them digging into his back—remembered the way she tasted, remembered the way her hips moved against his—and fought a groan, his hands sliding over hers to take hold of her wrists. "How could it be anyone _else's_ fault, Potter?"

He released her, stepping in closer, and her hands slipped from his chest to his ribs. "Evans," he warned.

"This is your fault," she informed him, suddenly breathless. "This is definitely your fault."

"What is?" he demanded, pulling her into him. He barely knew what they were talking about; he only knew that she was far, _too_ far away, and even though he knew perfectly well she was now flush against him it was still _too fucking far._ "What's my fault, Evans?"

"Everything," she whispered, and then her gaze dropped to his mouth and he felt his heart thudding in his ears.

"Everything?" he echoed, wondering if she could hear the quickening of his pulse.

For a moment, she just stared at him.

"Nothing," she amended.

 _Nothing,_ she'd said.

 _Fucking liar._

He lowered his head and she met his kiss with hopeless desperation; in an instant, he _knew_ she'd been lying—knew she'd been thinking about it, and about _him_. He could tell by the way her hands went instantly to his face—to the curve of his jaw, where her touch had made him shudder—that she remembered every moment of it, just like he did. She was just as fucking haunted as he was, coming to pieces in his arms, and in that moment he knew that she could spill delusions at every turn but there was no hiding in _this_.

There was no deception to the way her lips met his.

She tasted the same. His heart still thundered like his hooves against the earth, and it had been real, and it had not been his imagination; she was beauty and fight wrapped in fire and chaos and he would not be parted from her, _could_ not pull himself away—

But he did, because this was not enough. He wanted his name on her tongue; not denial, not _nothing_. He tore his lips from hers and hated every spare breath between them.

"What do you want, Evans?" he managed, his voice scratchy and rough, like he hadn't spoken in days.

 _Nothing,_ he thought she might say; and if she did, he might lose his mind.

"Something I shouldn't," she whispered, before heading up the stairs at a sprint.


	17. The Prefect

**Chapter 17: The Prefect**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: is anything truly mysterious anymore? Heroes: those who stand. Enemies: those who stand. Political climate: how can you tell them apart?_

* * *

"Look," Caleb said, gesturing. "Lucius."

Darian looked up, catching the head of distinctive silvery-blond hair as it glinted from the courtyard. Their former housemate was deep in conversation with Slughorn, Darian noted with a grimace, but at Caleb's nod, they headed towards him, loping slowly over the cobbled stone.

"—I'm merely _suggesting_ ," Lucius was saying, "that, perhaps, given your particular set of talents, you might not be so rigidly resigned to a life of academia—"

Darian frowned, noting the uncharacteristically anxious look on Slughorn's face and nudging Caleb, gesturing for him to watch the portly professor's reaction.

"My, my, Lucius," Slughorn cut in nervously. "I must say that I did not foresee you taking _this_ particular route—"

"Do you mean the school governors?" Lucius asked curiously, feigning ignorance. "Or my seat on the Ministry board?"

"Not so much those," Slughorn replied stiffly, still twitchy with nerves. His gaze drifted helplessly to Lucius' wrist before catching sight of Caleb and Darian as they approached. "Ah, Mulciber, Avery, come, come," he urged, looking relieved to see them (a singular rarity, Darian thought drily). "I expect you'll want to say hello to your former Prefect, eh?"

"Quite right," Darian confirmed smoothly, nodding at Lucius. "Malfoy, a pleasure."

"Darian," Lucius returned, giving him a vaguely friendly nod despite the timing of their interruption. "And Caleb, excellent. You both look well."

"As do you," Caleb returned, and Darian wondered for a moment how sincerely he'd meant it; Lucius _did_ look well, as he often did. He was prone to shimmering with wealth and prestige, all of it draped over a stance both regal and authoritative. For a moment, Darian saw how Slughorn may have been intimidated by Lucius, and felt himself oddly silly by comparison, younger and less gilded.

 _You're no Lucius Malfoy,_ his father sneered, his voice cold and contemptuous in Darian's mind. _Lucius Malfoy managed to be Head Boy, and yet you are content to let a mudblood and a muggle sympathizer outshine you—_

He shook the thought away, though he could not stop himself from wondering if Caleb, too, found him silly.

"Well, I'm off, then," Slughorn announced loudly. "Good day to you, Lucius!"

"If you change your mind," Lucius began, but Slughorn gave a tiny shake of his head and scurried off, intent on his escape.

"Well," Darian noted, nodding after their retreating professor, "I take it he wasn't buying whatever you were selling."

"Oh, I'd hardly call it a legitimate sell," Lucius sniffed. "I wasn't putting my full efforts into it." He straightened pridefully, glancing between Caleb and Darian to ascertain that they believed him. "I'm sure he'll come around. Always had a soft spot for me."

"His taste is hardly all that discriminating," Caleb muttered, and Darian fought a satisfied smile.

 _Maybe not so silly, then,_ he mused, feeling pleased.

Lucius spared Caleb approximately one moment of offense before shifting to brush some non-existent dust from the shoulder of his robes. "Perhaps not," he determined coolly. "I suspect it will soon be out of his hands, anyway."

"Things are going well, then?" Darian prompted. "You've been confirmed governor?"

"This morning," Lucius confirmed with a nod. "Allegiances are successfully being swayed. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he added, pursing his lips indifferently. "Dumbledore's effectiveness is hardly free from scrutiny."

"Is there some concern about the missing mudblood?" Caleb murmured, lifting one brow curiously as he read into Lucius' statement.

"Some," Lucius admitted. "Dumbledore is the only one insistent that the incident was anything more than a gloomy runaway teenager." He made a face, expressing precisely what he thought of that assertion; _idiots_ , his signature smirk said for him.

"Odd that _he_ would not want credit, don't you think?" Caleb prompted, and Lucius paused to glare at him.

"The mission you were assigned is hardly his priority. His aims at the Ministry—and elsewhere in the country—are proving to be considerably more fruitful," he hinted indiscreetly, looking extremely smug.

Caleb and Darian shared a wary glance.

"You think a Ministry takeover is imminent?" Darian asked.

"If my meteoric rise is any indication, then yes," Lucius confirmed, grinning. "Which means your focus may be better directed elsewhere."

"Such as?" Caleb prompted.

"Recruitment, for one thing," Lucius determined, with a patronizing air. The dangling of a child's plaything as a means of distraction, Darian thought. "Have you gotten Severus on board yet?"

Darian fought the urge to groan. "Nearly," he said, gritting his teeth.

Lucius, rightfully, looked unswayed. "You'll have to be more effective," he noted crisply, before looking around the courtyard to scan the other students who lingered between classes. "What about Black?" he asked, gesturing. "And Potter?"

Darian looked up, seeing Sirius, James, and Remus where they loitered in a corner, their heads bent in quiet conversation. "No," he determined instantly.

"Why not?" Lucius questioned, and Caleb made an indistinct choking sound, like he was fighting a laugh.

"Wait for it," Caleb remarked, and Lucius looked quizzically at him.

"What—"

" _There_ it is," Caleb announced, as Sirius reached out a hand, letting his fingers linger suggestively on the lip of Remus' trousers. "The worst kept secret in the castle," he added scornfully, though his eyes flicked momentarily to Darian's.

Lucius, though, did not notice; his expression instantly contorted into a face of pure, unfettered revulsion, disgust painting his features as he watched Sirius and Remus lean towards each other. "Are those two—"

"Yes," Darian confirmed, struggling to hide how sickened he was by Lucius' reaction. His father's voice unwillingly invaded his thoughts again; _the Dark Lord has punished for less,_ Mulciber Sr reminded him, a quiet narration of warning as Darian watched Sirius lean over, resting his chin on Remus' shoulder. The two Gryffindors both looked comforted by the motion, and Darian loathed them with a contempt he scarcely knew how to channel.

"And just when I thought there could be some redemption for Black," Lucius said flippantly, indulging a dramatic shudder. "As though he could not debase his name or his blood any further." He shook his head, the look of repugnance still etched into his features. "The Black name certainly isn't what it used to be, unfortunately," he remarked. "It's quite lucky for Narcissa that she's about to become a Malfoy."

He glanced expectantly at Caleb and Darian, waiting for their acknowledgement of his announcement.

"Congratulations," Caleb commented unconvincingly, and Darian coughed, fighting a laugh.

"So pleased for you," he managed to contribute, and despite the horrendously weak effort, Lucius looked satisfied.

"You know," Lucius added, looking thoughtful, "you never mentioned how you disposed of the mudblood. _Avada,_ I presume?"

Darian's gaze flicked to Caleb's, which did not go unmissed by Lucius.

"You _did_ dispose of him, correct?" Lucius prodded, suddenly wary.

"He is disposed of," Caleb said, but the careful tiptoe of his wording clearly did not sit well with Lucius.

"Yes, that much was assumed," Lucius said impatiently, "but my more pressing question is whether or not he is"—he paused, noticing his volume and quickly lowering his voice—" _dead_?"

"Well," Darian attempted slowly, "he is… transfigured. Into an object," he added after a beat, noting that Lucius' expression did not change.

"A bone," Caleb confirmed. "Which we felt was fitting."

Lucius stared at them, speechless.

"More than fitting," Darian continued, forging ahead unnecessarily in the silence. "Poetic, in a way, if you consider classic symbolism and mortality—"

"Are you two actual idiots?" Lucius interrupted, squinting at them as if he were, in fact, looking for confirmation of their stupidity on their faces. "Take"—he paused, growling again as he acknowledged his volume and quieted himself—" _take care of it,_ " he hissed, glaring between them. "If anyone were to—"

They paused at the sound of footsteps; Severus had appeared through the castle doors, pausing in demi-horror as Darian, Caleb, and Lucius looked up to meet his eye. Severus' gaze went first to the three of them, and then swiftly to James, Remus, and Sirius, whom Darian was startled to find were also considering Severus with unusual scrutiny.

"Severus," Lucius invited warmly, gesturing for him to join him; across the courtyard, James was openly staring, and Severus looked between him and Lucius, blinking uncomfortably.

"No," he determined ambiguously—either to James, Lucius, or both—before offering Lucius a curt nod, turning to re-enter the castle and promptly disappearing from sight.

"Well," Lucius sighed, "I suppose now I'll have to—" he gestured, indicating that he meant to follow Severus. "But you two," he added, jabbing a finger at them as he remembered what they'd just discussed. "Clean up your mess!"

"Yes, sir," Caleb returned emotionlessly, and Lucius spared him a final glare before turning on his heel, stalking after Severus.

Darian watched him disappear, squinting after him.

"I feel like I used to like him more," Darian remarked slowly, and Caleb offered a sympathetic half-smile.

"He used to be someone to look up to," Caleb agreed.

"Isn't he still, though?" Darian asked, glancing at him. "School governor, contacts at the Ministry, favored position with _him_ —"

"Favored for _now_ ," Caleb clarified, adding in a tiny shrug. "But we're his equals now," he reminded Darian, "and I'd like to see him accomplish much with Narcissa Black at his side," he commented, looking skeptical.

"Narcissa Black," Darian repeated blankly, not seeing how she fit in. "As opposed to what?"

Caleb chuckled, giving Darian a reckless smile.

"As opposed to you and me," he murmured, and for the first time in his life, Darian felt no envy towards Lucius Malfoy for an entire, blissful minute.

* * *

"So, it's official," Remus said glumly. "It's happening. I've been asked to submit myself for registration."

"No," James said loudly, less an exclamation than an outright refusal for anyone who cared to listen. "No, I don't fucking accept that."

"That's all well and good, Prongs," Remus said moodily, "but unfortunately, I think the Wizengamot is voting to go ahead without your approval."

"Balls," Sirius muttered, reaching out to rest a hand on Remus' hip. "How soon?"

"I got the owl this morning. Have to inform them where I'll be living after term ends," he added tightly, "as my future neighbors and employers evidently need to know."

"It's not going to interfere with N.E.W.T.s, is it?" Sirius asked, frowning.

"Doubt the Ministry can pull the resources together in a matter of months, so probably not," Remus confirmed bitterly, and though it was a spare bit of promising news, part of James was utterly ripped apart, watching his most optimistic friend suddenly look tormented beyond repair. "But once I leave here—"

Remus turned away, swallowing, leaving James to simmer in his frustration.

"This is fucking madness," James determined after a moment, wishing immediately to punch something. "Surely Dumbledore can do something, can't he?"

"It seems not," Remus replied, offering James a thin-lipped smile. "Listen, Prongs," he added carefully, "you know I love your tendency toward outrage, but I don't think it's helpful here."

"Like hell it's not!" James shouted, though at a warning look from Remus, he quieted, not wanting to attract the attention of Darian Mulciber and Caleb Avery where they were talking to Lucius Malfoy. "Like hell it's not," he repeated, softer. "There's got to be something we can do about this. Somewhere we can appeal, or something—"

"I'm out of options," Remus told him flatly, and James promptly shut his mouth, knowing this was not the time to rail against society. " _He's_ on the committee, you know," Remus added, jutting his chin out to reference Lucius Malfoy. "Not a starring role, but still—"

"Should we murder him?" Sirius offered, and James wondered for a moment how much he was joking.

"Better not," Remus sighed, managing half a smile. "You're too pretty for Azkaban."

"I agree," Sirius determined, resting his chin on Remus' shoulder. "But say I were to, you know, poke him with a stick—"

"A _very_ sharp stick," James clarified, "and one which is actually a knife—"

"Better not," Remus repeated, though the thought of casual murder appeared to have cheered him slightly. "The effort is appreciated, but I sense you'd both be dreadful criminals."

"Oh, the worst," James agreed at once. "Zero finesse."

"None," Sirius confirmed with a nod. "Crippling lack of subtlety between the two of us."

Remus chuckled, throwing an arm around James' shoulder. "A good effort," he said softly, though the laugh was gradually replaced with a solemn look of defeat. "Even if it still means I'll never get a job, or have a place to live—"

"You're being stupid, Moony," James informed him brusquely. "You'll live with us, obviously."

"Obviously," Sirius said with a nod. "For fuck's sake, Moony, it's as if you've completely forgotten you belong to us."

"Can't see how it slipped your mind," James added loftily, and was gratified to see another smile slip across Remus' face.

"I really can't expect you to do that," Remus said softly. "But—"

"We'll revisit the topic later," James suggested. "For now, just brood. You know," he added, gesturing to Sirius. "Padfoot can show you how."

"You should probably start with sulking," Sirius corrected. "Best to open with Prongs' specialty, as my level of brooding is really much too advanced."

"How very dare you," James retorted indignantly, and Sirius held out a hand, gesturing to James' expression.

"See? Sulking," Sirius noted clinically, and James reached out to smack him in the gut.

"Fucking _rude—_ "

"Hey," Remus said suddenly, catching sight of something over their shoulders. "Does Snape look weird to you?"

James looked up, catching a glimpse of him as he entered the courtyard. He did _indeed_ look much more sallow than usual, though James hated to admit he kept tabs on such things.

"Worried about him again, are you?" Sirius sniffed impatiently, rolling his eyes at Remus. "Probably just reeling from his breakup with Lils."

They both glanced experimentally at James, who ignored them. It had eventually come out why Lily had sought out Sirius on Christmas Eve; there had really been no point pretending once James discovered Sirius had known about her relationship with Severus all along. And yet, despite not only the length of time they'd known _and also_ James' remarkable ability to appear entirely unfazed, both of his best friends seemed to continually feel the need to test the waters.

"Hm?" James replied, not looking at them. "Are you expecting a reaction from me?"

"It's just you've been very calm about the whole thing," Remus noted cautiously, not for the first time.

"Suspiciously calm," Sirius agreed.

 _That's to be expected,_ James thought resignedly, _when one has been distracted, and is quietly waiting for Evans to come around._

Which, in all fairness, _did_ seem to be happening; she was avoiding him for now, but she couldn't avoid him forever. Not to mention that considering the look that came over her face every time they made eye contact, it was fairly obvious that she hadn't forgotten whatever it was that was bubbling to the surface between them.

James only realized he was staring when Severus met his eye; he felt something twist in his chest as Severus looked directly at him, simmering with something that looked to be equal parts loathing and exhaustion.

"No," Severus said, appearing to have addressed both James and Lucius in one evasive go, before turning and disappearing.

"Rejection," Sirius drawled in mock offense, glancing at James. "How will you ever recover?"

"I hate him," James muttered sullenly, which seemed to satisfy Remus and Sirius; he was surprised, though, to find the words suddenly carried less weight.

Funny how Lily Evans was changing things.

* * *

"Severus," Lucius called after him, following in his wake. "My goodness, is there a fire?"

Severus halted moodily, pivoting to face his former housemate.

"Lucius," he mumbled grimly. "A thrill, as ever."

"Please, Severus, you're far too indulgent," Lucius drawled, flashing him a falsely bright smile. "It may be an honor, but it's hardly a thrill."

"I wouldn't deign to make the distinction," Severus replied, already hating every breath of the interaction. "But I do have to get to class, so clearly I should—"

"A moment of your time, perhaps?" Lucius cut in, reaching out to grip his arm in what appeared to be an attempt at warm familiarity. "Nothing too invasive, of course." Lucius smiled again, flashing a set of perfect teeth that positively gleamed with privilege. "The most innocuous of small talk, I promise."

A lie, of course.

"I'm not interested in whatever you or he have to offer me," Severus replied, hoping to end things before they began. "Believe me, Darian's been more than clear about his, ah… _expectations_ —"

"Ah, excellent, so he's not a total idiot, then," Lucius said, offering Severus a conspiratorial shrug; it was such a calculated nudge of _aren't we so much smarter?_ that Severus found it exceedingly off-putting.

"No, not an idiot," Severus conceded. "Simply possessing misplaced motivations."

"You'll have heard _he's_ seen your work, I expect?" Lucius pressed. "The Dark Lord," he clarified unnecessarily.

"The _Sectumsempra,_ you mean?" Severus prompted vacantly, fervently wishing such a thing had never existed. "I'd heard."

"Among other spells," Lucius agreed. "All very impressive. Unique," he added, though he looked as though the word he had intended was more along the lines of _alarming._

"Other spells?" Severus echoed in confusion. "But how—"

But by then, Lucius' attention had wandered.

"What do you think of Potter?" Lucius interrupted, catching the horrific, unruly head of hair as it turned the corner into the corridor. "I'd heard Black was out, of course, and Potter's hardly an ideal candidate, but the pedigree is certainly there—"

Severus tuned him out, trying to ignore the dull pain in his chest at knowing James Potter was nearby. He'd seen Lily glance at James once or twice, always looking a little too long in potions or over meals, and it was enough to eat away at what remained of his soul.

He and Lily had not spoken, of course, which did not surprise him. There was nothing left to say, and she surely had no room in her life for him, or so she'd done an excellent job of showing him. She carried on as always; a little saddened, maybe—but then again, maybe that was only his ego running away with him, imagining that she could not discard him as easily as she had seemed to.

But saddened or not, she _lived_ with James, didn't she? Who else would she take comfort in? Severus had no reason to suspect it, but still, it ate him alive and enraged him, the idea that she might fill whatever pockets of her life she'd arranged for him with someone as intolerably undeserving as—

"James Potter," Lucius began in greeting, stepping out to extend his hand as James moved to pass them.

"Oh just suck my fucking _dick_ , Malfoy," James snapped instantly, not sparing another moment as he, Remus, and Sirius strode past.

"Well," Lucius remarked after a beat, pursing his lips. "I, for one, will happily make certain he lives to regret that." He turned back to Severus. "What was I saying?"

For a moment, for all his hatred toward James, Severus wished he could channel the kind of nerve that arrogant toadstool possessed; he wished he could fling a _suck my fucking dick, Malfoy_ at Lucius and then walk away, unbeholden to consequences. _Fuck you,_ Severus imagined saying, _and fuck your_ Lord _, and fuck your promises,_ and then maybe after that he could calmly circle back to James, to give him the _fuck you for thinking you were ever worthy to breathe her air_ that the git so rightfully deserved.

But Severus didn't say that, of course, because that had not been his life, or his way, or his luck, to be the kind of person who escapes such remarks unscathed.

No, Severus was the kind of person who said everything wrong, who hurt the one person he loved, because words didn't seem to suit his purpose quite so well as they did James Potter's.

"You'll go far, you know," Lucius reminded him, having remembered the point of conversation. "You could have a future, Severus, if you would only—"

"I have class," Severus said quietly, and he turned to walk away, offering the neatest form of insult that he could manage.

* * *

Lily leapt up from the desk as James came through the portrait, looking sullen and exhausted. For a moment she wanted to ask him what was wrong, but she didn't. All things considered, she couldn't.

She no longer trusted herself to speak to him; short of monosyllabic declarations of times, logistics, and duties, she no longer knew how to talk to James in a way that did not immediately draw her attention to the broadness of his chest, or the timbre of his voice, or the feel of his—

She shook her head vigorously, trying to put it out of her mind. Put _him_ out of her mind. She hadn't been wrong to think it would be torture recovering from Severus; she spent most of her time wandering around like a ghost, unsure how to go about replacing the quiet moments she'd reserved for him that she no longer knew what to do with. His presence had once been such a blessed reprieve from the stresses of her life, a rare departure to somewhere warm and comforting, but now there was no escape. Now, there was only the arduous knowledge that James Potter was somewhere nearby—and _hell_ did he know how to kiss her, and _fuck_ did she hate him for it.

At his entrance she gathered her things, preparing to leave, when James wearily raised a hand, stopping her.

"Stay," he commanded, which was irksome enough on its own. "You can continue avoiding me. I'm just going upstairs."

"I'm not avoiding you," she countered, and somehow, his acknowledgement of her obvious behavior was enough to inflame her, despite him being very much right.

He didn't _know_ her. How dare he?

"Evans, I'm getting a bit tired of you lying to me," James informed her wearily, "and I've had a very trying day, so if you wish to study out here, then fine." He threw his hands up in mock defeat. "It's all yours."

"What was so trying about your day?" Lily prompted irritably. "Did you have to manage some responsibility?" She paused. "Did it _hurt_?"

"Oh, _hilarious,_ Evans," James snapped, letting his bag fall to the ground. His school tie was loose around his neck, his top buttons undone, and he wore his sleeves rolled up, the line of muscle on his forearm shifting as he tightened his fists in frustration. "Yes, fine, insert a generic joke about me being a failure as Head Boy so we can both be on our way, shall we?"

It infuriated her that _he_ was now making excuses to leave.

"Generic?" she scoffed. "Oh, I can be specific, Potter. I can _wax poetic_ about your failings—"

"Go ahead, then," he retorted, stepping towards her and inviting it. "Hit me, Evans. Get me with something good, would you?"

"Your hair looks stupid," she told him nastily, looking up at it and fighting the memory of running her fingers through it. "As always, you look totally unprofessional—"

"I've heard that one!" he shouted back, his eyes flashing as he challenged her, taking a few long strides to cross to where she stood in the room. "Try again, Evans—"

"You—" she hesitated, floundering as he approached her. "You've left all the leadership to _me_ , of course, _as usual_ —"

"I contacted all the Prefects and scheduled rounds for the next week and you know it," he retorted, beckoning. "More, Evans. More."

"More?" she echoed furiously. "How about—"

"My grades, Evans?" James prompted, grinning darkly as he preempted her insults for her. "Nearly perfect. My behavior? Even _you_ can't complain," he flung at her, and she bit the inside of her cheek, knowing he was right. "My physique?" he added slyly, stepping in closer. "You tell me," he murmured in her ear, and in the very same breath, she hated him.

She _hated_ him.

"You just waltz around in all your fuckery," she seethed, "too privileged to even notice what it's like for people who don't have your precious pureblood name—"

"Evans," he warned tightly, and she might have stopped to wonder if she had crossed a line—if she were projecting somehow, shoving her own fears and injuries at him—only she was too far gone by then.

"You think you deserve respect for not judging people like me," she ranted, "and yet when Stebbins goes missing, you brush it off like it's _nothing—_ "

"You don't know what you're talking about," James growled.

"You have _no idea_ what it's like," Lily said desperately. "You have no idea what it feels like to be an _outsider,_ to have to fight for your place because people don't think you deserve it, to be normal, to be—"

" _You_ have no idea," he informed her, and she was shocked into silence, catching the genuine anger in his tone—not pretend indignation, not the feigned offense he gravitated towards, but actual _anger._ "You don't know what I have to deal with in my life, or what the people I love have to—"

He paused, like he was tripping over admitting something he shouldn't. "You don't know my life, Evans," James finally muttered, his gaze dropping confusingly to her lips.

"Oh really?" she gasped, suddenly realizing how close he was to her. "You think really think _you_ face some kind of _injustice_ from the world, Lord Potter?"

He watched her with a strange glimmer in his eye, and it was enough to make her question if she'd been wrong, if maybe she'd gone too far; he scanned her face searchingly and she held her breath, waiting.

"You think you know me, Lily Evans," James murmured, his voice low. "You don't know me at all."

She glared up at him defiantly, opening her mouth to argue that she _did_ know him, she'd watched him for seven years, been forced to live with him—

But when his lips met hers she kicked herself for not having paid attention, for not having realized he _wasn't_ the same, and so she kissed him back with fury, livid with herself, enraged and incensed and _desperate_ to feel him against her, to feel comforted by a man who _stayed,_ a man who _stood his ground_ —

He kissed her neck and she felt a moan escape against her will, a sound that was equal parts craving and defeat, knowing she wouldn't run this time; _not this time_. She pulled him into her— _closer, closer—_ until he'd backed her against the desk and reached over, flinging the books and parchment from the surface to sit her on top of it, fingers deftly traveling over the front of her shirt.

"Like this," he murmured, his lips against hers. "I was going to kiss you like _this_."

She shuddered, clinging to him.

His fingers pressed into the indentations of her ribs and she pulled his hands breathlessly to her breasts, sliding her hips toward him as he brushed a thumb over her nipple. At her sigh of satisfaction he seemed savagely encouraged, his hands slipping under her skirt and lifting her, and she tightened her legs around his hips as he removed her bra, pausing for a moment to look at her with his breath caught in his throat.

For a moment she wanted to cover herself, to run; he was staring at her with such a naked admiration that it felt somehow _too much_ and she nearly remembered what she was doing, the terrible wrongness she was pursuing. But in nearly the same instant he had pushed her back on the table, falling to his knees and pushing up her skirt, and when his mouth pressed against her she abandoned sanity again, awash in a wave of yearning as he turned to bite down on her thigh, claiming her and cursing her all at once.

It was never like this with Severus; he was attentive and covetous, yes, but somehow, with James Potter, seven years of ire and spite had mixed together to form a feral kind of spark, and everywhere he touched was _yes_ —and every place he kissed was _more_ —

And then it was _Potter—yes, there—_

And then it was _yes, Potter, please_ —

And then it became _fuck, Evans, so fucking good—_

And then _more, more, more_ became _yes, yes, like that—_

And when everything built up inside her it was a breath, a gasp, a sigh; and then it was _Lily,_ her name on his lips, whispered in her ear as she arched her back, convulsing in perfection.


	18. The Brontide

**Chapter 18: The Brontide**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: who can make this stop?  
Political climate: who can make this stop?_

* * *

James dropped his bag on the ground and tossed his broom off to the side after it, wiping sweat from the back of his neck and then permitting the to towel slip carelessly from his hand as he loped up the stairs. It had been an arduous practice and he was glad to be home, stripping his sweat-soaked jersey from his chest with a contented sigh and wrapping a towel around his waist in preparation for a well deserved shower.

Of course, the near-immediate groan of frustration from downstairs did give him pause, but not the moment of dread he'd have expected even a month ago; instead, he let half a smile slip at the sound of Lily huffing her indignation. He had the sneaking suspicion he was starting to make use of their new rhythm.

"Potter!" Lily barked from the common room, his name punctuated by the sound of the portrait falling shut behind her. "What in Godric's name is this?"

"What in Godric's name is _what_ , Evans?" he called innocently, tossing the words over his shoulder from his room. "You'll have to be more specific, your highness."

"Potter," she growled again, "I'm not your house elf. I'm not going to pick up after you, and if you think for _one second_ that you can—"

"Can't hear you!" he shouted back merrily, fighting a laugh. "I'm upstairs, Evans—and really, there's no reason to yell like barbarians."

He heard her let out a groan of concession before stomping up the stairs, vigorously cursing him under her breath.

"Potter," she said again, appearing in the doorway a little breathless from her ascent, "I was _saying_ —"

She paused, catching sight of him. "Oh," she muttered, cheeks immediately warming with a delightful flush of interest.

"Yes, Evans?" James prompted placidly, knowing perfectly well the exact degree of the towel's precarious placement. He felt a swell of satisfaction as her gaze traveled to where it sat low on his hips.

She swallowed carefully. "As I was saying," she managed, clearing her throat and filling him with an unspeakable triumph that quickly doused as she stubbornly continued her rant, "you've left the common room in utter _shambles,_ Potter, and I—"

"I'll clean it up," he assured her, taking a few steps toward her and pausing to lean against the doorframe. "I promise," he added, fighting not to reach for her.

"You'd better," she grumbled, her eyes flicking guardedly over his bare chest. "I just—" She paused, looking dazed. "I, ah. Well, I would hate to have to—"

"Evans," James interrupted, anxious to skip ahead. "If you want to get in the shower with me, all you have to do is say so." She gaped at him; he carried on, unfazed. "We don't have to fight about it first," he added, permitting himself the conceit of a smile.

Her green eyes widened, filled with something that looked to be equal parts rage and intrigue. "How," she began, "could you _possibly—_ "

James reached out instinctively, brushing his thumb against her lower lip; he watched her shiver at his touch and fought not to do the same.

"Would you like to join me?" he asked patiently, the words more breathy than he intended as she swayed towards him. He leaned over, murmuring in her ear. "Yes or no," he instructed quietly.

She looked up, the defiance slowly melting from her posture as she seemed to recognize the matching need he wore plainly on his face. He hadn't bothered to hide it; he never would again.

He forced himself not to move, waiting.

"Yes," she replied after a moment, drawing her shoulders back. "But don't let it go to your head," she warned, glaring at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't," he determined, trying not to look as victorious as he felt. "And I wouldn't dream of holding it against you if you fell in love with me, either," he added, tossing it in as an afterthought.

To that, predictably, she made a face. "Impossible," she scoffed. " _That_ would take far more than—"

He cut her off again, brushing his lips against hers this time. She let her hands drift lazily to his hips, nudging the fold of the towel until it slid slowly to the floor to pool at his feet, her nails scraping purposefully against his inner thigh.

"I don't want your love, Potter," Lily muttered, her eyes closed. "I just want your d-"

"Evans, you are filthy," James interrupted with enthusiasm, leaning in to kiss her again. This time, she swiftly pulled out of his reach, prompting all but a minor heart murmur until he realized she had yanked her shirt over her head. She tossed the garment at him and turned around, pointedly drawing his gaze to the swing of her hips as she walked to their bathroom.

"Don't make me regret this," she called over her shoulder, and he nodded dumbly, already speechless in her wake.

* * *

"How do you want to do it?" Caleb asked, eyeing Darian for a reaction.

"Quickly," Darian replied moodily, "and undetected."

"I'll add those things to the wish list," Caleb drawled, rolling his eyes. "Anything more specific?"

Darian sat up, sighing. "Like what?"

For a moment he wanted to reach for Caleb, to pull the other boy's chest against his and feel comforted by the weight of him, to shake from underneath the collective thud of their pulse, letting the collision beat his fears into submission.

He rejected the impulse in favor of his own limbs, drawing his knees towards his chest.

"Like," Caleb pronounced slowly, "whether you want to leave him there after I do it, or if we should transfigure him back—"

"What do you mean after _you_ do it?" Darian demanded, glancing up sharply.

"I just assumed you would prefer me to be the one," Caleb explained with a shrug. "Considering how opposed you were to the whole thing last time."

"I wasn't opposed," Darian argued faintly, though he knew his protest was pointless. They'd both been there; they'd both seen. If Caleb had thought him weak, it was his own fault. "I was just—"

"Having doubts?" Caleb supplied. His expression was skeptical, which struck Darian with such a forceful pang of of self-loathing he half wished to melt into the floorboards. This, though, was not acceptable. _Would_ not be acceptable, he knew, for the lifetime he faced ahead.

 _You only play at fighting with the big dogs, don't you?_ he'd said to Peter Pettigrew, mocking the rat and forgetting that in his own world, the dogs were much bigger.

 _You can only play in the middle for so long._

"I'll have to do it," Darian determined abruptly, steeling himself.

Caleb watched him closely, unmoving. "If you don't want to—"

"It was _my_ task," Darian hissed sharply, and he might have worried about how nastily the statement erupted, except Caleb's eyes were glittering with something that looked suspiciously like arousal. " _I'm_ the one who took the Mark when he needed someone at school. It was fucking assigned to _me_."

The truth of the statement floated between them, Darian's breath partially suspended.

"It was," Caleb agreed after a moment, the odd hint of craving still etched into his face.

"It should be me," Darian affirmed, though the thought was suddenly as sickening as it was ringing with certainty. "I should be the one to kill Stebbins."

The moment he said it, he wondered if later on that decision would haunt him; if later on he might feel the tremors of change between who he was before he'd said the words, and who he would later be because of them.

But it didn't give him pause for long, because by then Caleb was creeping towards him. "When should we do it?" he asked, his voice hoarse and tinged with roughness.

Was it the mere thought of killing that did this to him, Darian considered, or was it the thought of Darian himself being the instrument of mortality?

He tried to care about the difference.

He found, unsurprisingly, that he did not.

"Soon," he determined, twining the two forbidden words together in his mind and wondering how they would sound together, spoken into the tip of his wand.

 _Avada Kedavra._

"Very soon," Darian murmured, finding the taste of them both bitter and sweet.

Not unlike Caleb.

* * *

"You'd better not have told your stupid friends," Lily muttered, gasping as James tossed her back onto his bed. "I swear, Potter, if you breathe _one word_ of this—"

"Believe me," he grunted back, pulling off her shoes and throwing them carelessly behind him, "I have no interest in anyone knowing about this."

"What?" she demanded, sliding out of his reach for a moment to prop herself up on her elbows. "What do you mean you have no interest in anyone knowing about this? _I'm_ the one who should be ashamed in this scenario," she added grumpily, knowing she was pouting and failing to give a damn about it.

James grabbed hold of her hips, yanking her down on the bed and towards him before positioning himself between her legs. "I have no interest in being known as your rebound," he informed her, and then a knowing smirk crept over his face as she felt a slow flush rising in her cheeks. "Oh yes, Evans, I haven't forgotten that's what I am."

"It's—" She shut her eyes. _I don't want to talk about Severus,_ she thought, feeling an ache in her chest at his name. "It's not like that."

"Oh, it may very well be," he determined, smacking her bum lightly to prompt her to lift her hips before yanking her knickers out from under her skirt. "But plan b is not beneath me," he drawled, lifting one of her legs onto his shoulder and biting down on the inside of her thigh.

"You're not plan b," she informed him, panting a little as he slipped a finger inside her, prompting a stifled moan. He had an irritating capacity to deliver her straight to madness. Requisite feelings or not, his touch was almost criminal in its accuracy, and if she didn't consistently want more, she'd have hated him for it. "You were never a plan _at all_ , and believe me, if I could discard you—"

"Oh Evans, you wound," he interrupted, lazily stroking his thumb against her clit before nudging her leg down from where he'd positioned it on his shoulder and standing, backing away from the bed.

The word "Wait" slipped desperately from her lips before she froze, clapping a hand over her mouth. _No,_ she thought angrily, _don't you dare beg, Lily, don't you fucking do it—_

"Relax," James assured her, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it slope over his shoulders. She let her eyes travel over his body, determined not to let her appreciation show—but still, knowing with a catastrophic certainty that it must have been wildly transparent. James Potter was certainly aesthetically pleasing; _too_ pleasing, she promised herself briskly, reminded that while she had been with Severus she'd been fond of his leanness, and the way he would never have wasted his time on the accumulation of biceps or whatever else showboating idiots like James were given to do.

But then James turned, pulling his trousers over the curve of his arse and kicking them off to the side, and Lily felt her breath catch as she eyed the muscle of his back, suffering a jolt of anticipation at the sight of the crevices she would almost certainly dig her nails into with satisfaction.

"What was that about discarding me?" he asked, returning to the bed. He unzipped her skirt and she let him remove it, pretending to be upset.

"That I would if I could," she managed hoarsely, but she knew he could hear the lie in it.

"Tell me, Lily," he murmured, and if she hadn't been slick enough already, her name on his lips certainly did it, "wouldn't it be more fun if you just said what you meant?" He sat back on his haunches, yanking her hips toward him. "Let's try something," he added mischievously, teasing her in more ways than one. "Why don't you just tell me what you _really_ want me to do?"

"I hate you," she gasped, her legs squeezing around him instinctively.

"You don't hate me," he corrected her, his hazel eyes going a bit glassy as he watched her bite her lip. "But if you're going to keep me your dirty little secret, then you'll be mine, too. I'm not going to settle for the background of your life," he told her, and it was agony, she thought, being made to wait, being made to watch him lick his dry lips, being made to observe him watching her like he knew perfectly well she was coming undone. "I'm not like him. I'm not him."

 _No_ , she thought pitifully, _no, you're not_ —

"Tell me what you want," James repeated, and she almost sobbed.

"Please," she managed, arching her back. "Please, Potter—"

He tilted his head, expectant, and she let out a frustrated groan.

"James, _please_." She was halfway to shouting in desperation. "Please, just—"

And the rest was lost in a moan as he slid inside her, bringing her to bliss in nearly the time it took to reach insanity.

* * *

Severus glanced up from his books; on his left, Darian and Caleb had their heads bent together. He wondered if they were actually partaking in atrocities he scarcely knew how to quantify, or if that were merely his irrational suspicion.

Further into the hall, Lily had bounded in, looking breathless and unfoundedly chipper. Behind her, James Potter followed, a lazy, imbecilic grin on his face as he sidled up to Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.

The timing of their synchronized entry was… less than reassuring.

Though equally irrational, Severus hoped.

Severus watched as Lily took a seat at the Gryffindor table, a short distance from James and his friends; she'd sat down with her own group, Marlene McKinnon and Mary MacDonald, but for the briefest moment, she glanced up, her eyes helplessly seeking out James from a few feet away.

Severus felt a sting in his chest, remembering the way Lily had covertly met his gaze that day on the train, before Christmas, before everything; when things had still been real between them and not this ocean of forgotten things, of echoes Severus could hardly believe had ever existed. She had spared him a glance, then—and it had felt spare, even with the promise in her eyes—but she'd been on her side and he'd been on his, and he had been conscious of the space between them, foolishly imagining it to have been inconsequential.

But now she was looking at James Potter and it was like there was no space; James looked back at her, and maybe it was an instant—maybe less—but it was no spare glance. It was charged and exposed.

It had been one thing, what she'd said to Severus in a look. _I'll see you later._

But her glance at James—it was different. _I'm seeing you now._

Severus looked down, suddenly wishing to bleed all over his parchment.

* * *

Lily slammed him against the bookcase with a strength that consistently surprised him.

"Fuck," he swore, closing his eyes. "You really don't fuck around, do you, Evans—"

"Force of habit," she returned, grabbing one of his hands to position it under her skirt. "Muggleborn," she added, though he didn't have the faintest idea how that was at all relevant.

"What?" he asked vacantly, slipping his fingers under the lace.

"It means I have to work twice as hard," she informed him, pressing herself against him as though to punctuate the statement, "and be half as appreciated for it," she concluded, nipping at his collarbone.

"Oh, I fucking appreciate you," he said, reaching up to grasp her face with both hands. Her lips were red and swollen, her cheeks flushed and pink, and she was perfection between his fingers. "I appreciate _the fuck_ out of you, Evans."

She ground her hips against him, seeming to delight in his choked-out groan. "Good," she informed him, "as it seems like you may be the only one once I leave here."

"Fuck 'em," he declared, closing his eyes as she unzipped his trousers, slipping her hand inside. "Fuck it, they're all idiots—"

"A stunning vote of confidence, Potter, but hardly that easily dismissed," she replied, tearing his shirt open and scraping her nails along his chest. "I am what I am, which will likely be extinct soon," she added, kissing a path down his stomach to settle herself on her knees. "Or murdered, I suppose, in which case I won't have to worry about it—"

"Fucking hell, Evans, can you not discuss murder while you—" He broke off with a hiss as she licked the tip of his cock. " _Fuck—_ "

"I've accepted it," she told him, before tracing a slow circle around his tip with her tongue. "After all, I came back here. I could have hidden," she said, her voice going quiet. "Or I could have run."

James tangled his fingers in her hair, looking down at her and trying not to be distracted by the image of her, her hand still wrapped snugly around his cock.

"Evans," he grunted, straining to focus. "Those aren't your only options. You can _fight_. You can—" He stopped, trying to convince his throbbing cock not to interrupt his poignant statement and failing, feeling it leap against her palm as her wild eyes widened. "Fuck," he groaned, beginning to lose track of what he was saying, "and also"—he paused, grimacing with effort—"fuck you if you think I won't fight _with_ you—"

He broke off as she slowly licked up his shaft, her eyes never leaving his.

"Fucking do something with this, I beg of you," he muttered, and then she, obligingly, conceded to take his cock in her mouth, sliding her tongue along the underside and delivering him to oblivion.

* * *

"Evans," James drawled, nudging her under the table with his knee. "Are you interested in some cranberry sauce?"

"Very funny," she remarked, giving him a stiff glare. Across the table, Remus and Sirius laughed their approval and Lily, feeling an opportunity for revenge, pretended at indifference, innocently letting her napkin fall to the ground and sliding her hand along James' inner thigh as she sat up.

Her fingers brushed pointedly over his cock and he shot upwards with a jolt, coughing.

"Alright there, Prongs?" Sirius asked. "Choking on your mirth again, are you?"

"Something like that," he croaked in reply, his eyes widening as Lily drew lazy circles around his tip with her thumb, feeling him start to strain against the material. "I just, erm—" He broke off, tightening a hand around his fork and bowing his head.

"Huh. I think you've stunned him into silence, Lil," Remus remarked in surprise. "It looks like ignoring him _does_ work."

"Yes, that's it," James choked out, banging a fist against the table as Lily covertly unbuttoned his trousers, tugging the zipper down and taking him fully in her hand. "I hate to be ignored. Please, Evans," he rasped, pleadingly tossing her a sidelong glance. "Please do me a _fucking favor_ and don't ignore me—"

"Ah, but it's so effective," she countered, slowly sliding her palm up and down against his shaft. "Look, I didn't even have to eat any cranberries."

"True," Remus agreed. "You do seem to be learning."

Lily smiled beatifically at him, nodding her agreement as James fidgeted erratically in his seat.

"I will never," James huffed, "reference cranberries ever again, if you would only just—"

She promptly released him, raising her napkin to dab politely at her mouth. "Have to run," she said apologetically, nodding to Remus and Sirius. "Have to finish assigning rounds for the week." She glanced over at James. "Are you coming?" she demanded, trying not to smile as she stood, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're not going to make me take care of everything myself, are you, Potter?"

He gaped at her, his hazel eyes wide in disbelief.

"Evans," he muttered, "you are a fucking _monster_."

"Yes," Sirius agreed, "how dare you make him actually do his job, Lils?"

"Oh, I'll definitely make sure he does it," Lily replied, not taking her eyes from James' bent head. She was certain that if she even glanced momentarily at Sirius or Remus, she would instantly convulse in laughter. "And I'll make sure it's thorough, too," she added innocently, leaning towards him, "or he'll have hell to pay."

James let out a sound that was half strangled whimper, half muted groan, and Lily smiled, sashaying away in triumph.

* * *

"Professor," James called, stalking after him as he made to leave the Great Hall. "Professor, a word, if I could—"

Dumbledore rotated slowly on the spot, smiling vacantly. He looked a bit distanced, his attention traveling from somewhere far away, which James did not find comforting.

"Ah, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "How may I—"

"They say you're the only wizard You-Know-Who was ever afraid of," James said, cutting to the chase. "So I hope you have a plan."

"A plan," Dumbledore echoed, momentarily losing the mischievous twinkle that was so characteristically vital to his persona.

"Yes, a fuc- I mean, yes, a plan," James amended quickly, reminding himself to contain his language. "To fight him." He glanced up, searching the old wizard's gaze. "You _do_ have a plan, don't you?"

There was a pause as Dumbledore considered the question.

"My job," Dumbledore began slowly, "is to protect the students of Hogwarts." He looked thoughtful, though impossibly unfocused. "My job is to have prepared all of you to be the best possible witches and wizards—"

"Pardon my usual insipidness, Professor, but that's just not fucking enough," James insisted, frowning. "What about—" he looked around before leaning in, remembering to lower his volume. "What about Remus?" he asked quietly. "What about Ev-" He sighed. "Lily?"

 _I am what I am, which will likely be extinct soon_ , he heard her say again, and shuddered against his will.

Dumbledore's face fell. "I regret that I cannot do more for them, Mr Potter, surely you know this—"

"We're not prepared, Professor!" James informed him, waving his arms in frustration. "Nobody before us was prepared, and we _certainly_ aren't—"

"Mr Potter," Dumbledore sighed, "I really think—"

"We'll fight him, you know," James added fiercely. "We can fight him, but we can't do it alone."

Dumbledore paused again, something different appearing in his eye this time; clarity, James guessed.

Purpose, he hoped.

"It would be very unwise for me to indulge in the mismanaged rebellion of schoolchildren," Dumbledore said slowly.

James grinned. "Lucky I traffic in mismanaged rebellion," he said, "but I'll give you a day or two to consider it."

* * *

Stebbins didn't move; his breathing was shallow and rasping, and he himself was pale and thin, worn nearly to emaciation.

Such was the case, Darian assumed, when one was forced to exist as a bone for several months. All things considered, a first kill could have been worse.

 _Avada Kedavra,_ Darian thought, not lifting his wand, still sampling the words within the confines of his psyche. He almost felt there should be some kind of divine nod of approval, some signal from above; something to qualify him for its use, and yet there was nothing.

Nothing but Caleb's watchful eye, appraising him silently.

 _Do it,_ Darian told himself, _there was never any turning back, there was never any chance for anything but this—_

 _Do it,_ his mind demanded again, insistent, beating his conscience into submission, flailing violently within himself. _This was_ your _fucking task—_

"Steady," Caleb murmured, reaching out. He placed a hand on Darian's arm just as Stebbins stirred, his lashes fluttering as though he might have opened his eyes.

 _Do it, Darian,_ his father yelled in his mind, _do it—_

Stebbins' eyes cracked slightly again and Caleb's grip tightened on his arm.

 _Do it_

 _Do it_

 _DO IT—_

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," Darian intoned blankly, and then it was as if time had stopped; a flash of blinding green light, a slight collapse to Stebbins' motionless form; a breath of silence in Darian's mind, all voices suddenly suspended.

The world went quiet as power throbbed through Darian's bones, a rush of something cold and gruesome flooding him and chilling him to his soul. It was glacial and menacing and he wanted desperately to shake it, to break it, to break _free_ —only the moment the surge left him, one word floated to mind with a whisper.

 _Again._

He blinked, seeing the bone on the ground, knowing Caleb had transfigured Stebbins back and returned him to his grave, to his eternity. A wave of something washed over him; _relief,_ he suspected, or else _calm_.

Something was fractured and he imagined he could feel air rushing in through slim cracks in his lungs; every breath he drew was piercing and cruel, but still, his fingers buzzed with purpose.

With power.

Only one other thing made him feel that way.

When Caleb stood, poised and placid, Darian shoved him against a tree, tearing at his lips and tasting blood and wanting more.

"Darian," Caleb gasped hoarsely, though he looked equally hungry, "someone could see—"

"You're a fucking wizard, Caleb," Darian replied carelessly, his voice husky and gruff and mean. "Cast a _fucking spell_ —"

And then he turned him brusquely, pressing Caleb's chest against the bark and fumbling with his trousers, yanking them down to his knees and kicking his feet apart as Caleb weakly muttered a disillusionment charm, punctuating the spell with an impossibly faint moan. Beneath Darian's feet the surface of the earth felt pliant and submissive, bending to his will, the softness of it wildly incongruous with the pulsing need in his veins.

He pressed himself against Caleb, wondering if he could—if he _dared_ —

"Fuck me," Caleb panted, the words escaping in a mutinous growl, like they'd fought their way out of his throat. "Darian, fuck me—"

It would be the first time.

 _Do it,_ his brain shouted, _fucking do it—_

 _DO IT—_

He didn't know how he managed it, how he knew what Caleb needed, what _he_ needed, only one moment he was muttering a spell he only half-knew and the next he was pressing against Caleb's slick entrance, time stopping again, the world holding its breath a second time, and then his cock was out and then it was inside Caleb and he was fucking whole. He was fucking _whole._

Darian held Caleb's hips, pressing down on them as Caleb pushed back to meet him, and it was sweat and musk and earth, and it was warm and swollen and euphoric, and as Caleb spilled onto his hand and he spilled, breathless, into Caleb, he only heard one word—

 _Again._

* * *

"Thank you," Lily managed, tugging him onto the sofa and straddling his hips.

"For what?" James asked hazily, nipping at her lip and pulling her closer.

"You know what," she admonished him, leaning back to meet his gaze. His eyes were distinctly unfocused and she might have felt bad for interrupting, only she knew she'd reward him later. "The Venus."

"Ah," he said vacantly, running his fingers up her arms. "Linfred of Stinchcombe is a slightly distant ancestor. It was a relatively simple favor," he explained, shrugging. "He has a portrait on the third floor, and I simply asked him to stop by and keep an eye on her."

"And why would you do such a thing?" Lily asked breathlessly, trying not to ruin the moment with a victorious smile.

He blinked. "She wasn't doing her job," he said, frowning. "And it wasn't fair to—"

She cut him off with a kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Fuck you, Potter," she sighed, letting her eyelids float open slowly. "How dare you be a twat for seven years and then pull this kind of fuckery?"

"It's unforgivable, I know," he replied, nudging her chin up and kissing her neck. "How dare I, indeed."

"I still hate you, James," she whispered, but she shuddered at the taste of his name; at something new and different. Something inconceivable and undeniable all at once.

"I'd be suspicious of anything less," he returned drily, and then she slipped her tongue against his, resigning him to silence.

* * *

Darian opened the door of his bedroom a crack, instantly scowling at the appearance of Peter Pettigrew's face.

"What?" Darian demanded, nudging the door open just enough for himself to step outside it, crossing his arms over his chest. "How many _fucking times_ do I have to tell you—"

"You did something," Peter erupted warily, his face blanched. "Stebbins, he was—" he paused, glancing at his feet and muttering under his breath. "He was on the map yesterday, and he's not anymore—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Darian growled impatiently. "What fucking map?"

"I didn't make the connection," Peter babbled feverishly, fidgeting with nerves. "He disappeared on Halloween, but I didn't—"

"Listen," Darian snarled, growing impatient. "Whatever you fucking think this is—"

"—and then yesterday," Peter continued breathlessly, "you and Avery were—you were there, and now he's gone, and I just—" He looked up, his eyes wide and accusatory. "What have you done, Mulciber?" he gasped.

It took all Darian possessed not to laugh.

"What have I done?" Darian echoed, finding a perverse pleasure in the ghostly pallor of Peter's face. "What I was fucking _meant to do_ , rat." He permitted himself a slow smile, suddenly elated at the chance to teach Pettigrew a lesson. "I told you that you couldn't play in the middle," Darian murmured recklessly, taking a menacing step forward. "I told you that, didn't I?"

"Yes," Peter mumbled, his eyes flicking everywhere but Darian's face, "but I didn't—"

"You didn't think this is what it meant," Darian supplied, bored. "You thought it'd be easy, didn't you?"

"I," Peter began uncertainly, "I hadn't—"

"You don't understand that power is about more than just having the right friends," Darian spat, full of contempt and yet, somehow, satisfaction. "There are _sacrifices,_ rat, and if it's power you want—"

He broke off, watching Peter's watery blue eyes widen. "If it's power you want," Darian warned, lowering his voice, "you need to decide what you're willing to fucking sacrifice."

Peter opened his mouth to speak, to argue, but Darian took a step back, closing his eyes to savor the gratifying sound of the door slamming, imagining the fool on the other side to have been swallowed whole, engulfed by the sheer volume of lessons he needed to _fucking learn_.

Behind him, Darian felt Caleb's chest brush against his back and let his eyes flutter open.

Some lessons weren't meant to sink in.


	19. The Stag

**Chapter 19: The Stag**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: check for a pulse, just to be safe, just to be sure. Blood: wear it like a badge, wear it like a penance. Magic: a blessing, a curse. Political climate: blame your shudder on the wind, and pitch your sails wisely when it changes._

* * *

"Good morning," James said brightly, kissing her forehead as she turned over in his arms.

"Please don't speak," Lily mumbled, burying her face in his chest and groaning. He _would_ wake her up this early, like he was in some kind of mad contest with the sun.

Not that it was entirely unpleasant a waking, all things considered.

"That's all you have to say to me?" he asked, nudging her with his nose and tightening his grip around her. "You're sure there's nothing… _else_ that might occur to you, Evans?"

"Is there something else you're waiting for?" she asked innocently, voice muffled. She kept her eyes shut, hoping he wouldn't see the smile she was fighting.

"I suppose not," he sighed, mumbling into her hair. He tensed a little, sulking, and she laughed, pulling away to look at him.

"Fine," she conceded, feigning grouchiness. "Happy birthday, then, Potter."

"Evans, you remembered!" he exclaimed, batting his lashes at her and ducking her hand as she swatted at him. "Darling, I'm so _moved—_ "

"You're an idiot," she informed him, flopping back against his chest. "Now let me go back to sleep."

"Not happening, Evans," he countered, rolling her onto her back and kissing his way down her stomach. "It's my birthday, remember?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with _me_?" she asked briskly. "I don't recall ever agreeing to"—she paused, emitting a brief _ah_ of surprise as he nipped at the inside of her thigh—" _humor_ you in any way. I've given you a birthday greeting," she determined tartly, "and as far as I'm concerned, my responsibility ends there."

"Responsibility ends, maybe," he ventured, pushing her legs apart to settle himself between them. "This, Evans, is for _fun_."

"Why should I do anything for your birthday?" she asked, wriggling under him as he worked his way back up to her breasts. "You didn't do anything for mine."

He popped up, his face going pale. "Fuck," he remarked with a grimace, and she fought a laugh at his tragic look of dismay.

"It's fine, Potter," she muttered, gripping his hair tightly between her fingers as he resumed kissing his way over her skin. "I wouldn't have known what to expect from you, anyway."

"I could have had a party for you or something," he ventured, biting down playfully on her hip and chuckling as she moved instinctively at his touch. "Sirius is insisting on having one for me tonight. Besides," he added, reaching up to kiss her neck, "that's what people _do_ , you know, when they're—"

He paused, glancing up at her, looking like he had a question at the tip of his tongue.

"What?" she demanded, feeling an unsavory weight settling in her stomach at the thought of where that sentence had been heading. "I thought we weren't going to talk about this," she murmured quietly, throwing herself back against the pillow.

"About what?" he asked brightly, pretending at innocence. "I didn't say anything."

"I can see it on your stupid face, Potter," she growled, tightening her legs around his hips to pull him up towards her. "I thought we agreed we weren't talking about whatever it is we're doing here."

"We did," he agreed, though he didn't meet her eyes. "And this is us _not talking_ about it, Evans."

"It's nothing, okay?" she reminded him. "There's no implied contract of birthday parties between us because we're _not doing anything_ —"

"Right," he agreed, glancing slyly at her. "You're just slowly moving into my bedroom."

She rolled her eyes. "I _have_ a room—"

"—that you haven't slept in for weeks," he reminded her firmly, pressing his lips to her clavicle. "Not that I'm opposed," he added, tracing a finger over where the kiss had been.

"Are you sure? Because it sounds a bit like you're looking to file a complaint," she told him, shifting to meet his eye. "If what we're doing is bothering you, Potter, we can stop."

The moment she said the words, she felt her heart pound, immediately wishing she could retract them; she looked away, not wanting to see his face, and suffered a slow, rotting torment as she waited for him to respond.

"Oh Evans, you brute," James remarked eventually, and gradually, her pulse gratifyingly slowed. "I've no intention of stopping."

"Good," she informed him, hoping her relief did not bleed through to her voice. "I'm happy to continue, seeing as you're not entirely useless," she added, shifting her hips under his for emphasis.

"That's one way to say you love me," he agreed smugly, ducking her again as she smacked his shoulder. "Relax, Evans, nobody _blames_ you—"

"Don't get carried away," she warned, sighing as he slid up to kiss her. "Seriously," she muttered against his lips. "None of that."

"I know better," he agreed, looking horribly satisfied with himself. "I suppose I should just count myself lucky as it is."

"You should," she permitted with a smirk. "Though I suppose part of your appeal for me is just being able to stay here after sex instead of having to sneak—"

She stopped, turning red as he stiffened against her. Severus had never come up between them before (in fact, she did everything she could not to think about him under any possible circumstance) but there was no denying he had now inadvertently entered the conversation, at least in some abstract way. She closed her mouth quickly and shut her eyes, waiting for James to determine where to go from there.

She heard him swallow carefully, buying time.

"Why him?" he asked quietly, resting his chin in the spot between her breasts. If Severus had thought her body a museum, some masterpiece of art, James seemed to see her as a home, making a life for himself in and around it.

"Come on," she sighed, not wanting to deal with their childish rivalry. "I _know_ you hate him, Potter, but—"

"I'm not trying to be a dick about it," he interrupted. "Really, I'm not. I want to know."

His hazel eyes were wide and imploring, and she hated him a bit for the effect they were starting to have on her. _Particularly_ as he ventured into a topic she desperately wished not to discuss, prompting a defense she would surely struggle to muster.

"You want to know _what_ , exactly?" she asked, a little too sharply. "Why I loved him?"

He flinched at the assertion, and she suffered a brief wave of shame. "I guess," he murmured, kissing her shoulder and resting his lips against it. "You don't need to be defensive," he added, his voice unusually placid. "If you don't want to talk about it, I can always just put my dick in you and call it a morning," he mused, cracking a smile.

She managed half a sighing laugh, tracing lazy circles on his back. "Fine," she said quietly, and then, for perhaps the first time, she thought about it. "I think," she began unsteadily, and James waited, his breath ghosting across her bare skin, "I think it had something to do with him being the bridge between my worlds. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's a much better man than you give him credit for," she said hurriedly, and he nodded, his face contorting _just slightly_ in displeasure, "but there was a bond there. He really _knew_ me, you know?"

James nodded again, more agreeably this time, and Lily swallowed hard, words she'd never said finally bubbling up inside her chest and fighting for release.

"I came here—to Hogwarts—and I had to fight _so hard_ for everything. For credit, for recognition, for—I don't know, _legitimacy_ ," she sighed. "But he understood me. He took me for what I was. He loved me for it, and it was…"

She trailed off, not knowing the word.

"Easy?" James offered.

"No," Lily said, scoffing a little. "No, never easy."

She reached down, brushing an errant curl from his forehead. _Not like it is with you,_ she realized, before immediately rejecting the thought.

 _Of course it's easy with Potter,_ she reminded herself briskly. _It's easy because it's nothing._

"Comfortable, then?" James suggested. "Or, I don't know. Safe?"

"Safe," Lily agreed, nodding. "Yes, I think that's it. I knew I didn't have to prove anything to him." She shivered a little; a shiver born of sadness. "He was my safe place."

James nodded, though she noted his arms tightened around her. "What happened?"

She sighed. "It was always complicated," she told him, and they shifted so that they lay on their sides, face to face. "He had his own problems."

He ran a hand slowly up her arm. "Like?"

She hesitated, planning to lie and surprising herself with the truth.

"I think You-Know-Who is trying to recruit him," she confessed, spilling her suspicions aloud for the first time. "Or _tried_ to, at least—but I don't know for sure," she added, feeling the strike of uncertainty again, "because he wouldn't tell me."

For a moment she couldn't glance up; couldn't meet his eye, couldn't stand to see how he would take it. She waited as James opened his mouth and then shut it, equally unsure what to say.

"If he _had_ told you the truth," James ventured slowly, "would you have stayed with him?"

The question caught her off guard; she'd been prepared for skepticism, for mockery—but _this_ she had no answer for. She opened her mouth to say _of course_ but hesitated, the truth hovering before her and trapping the words before they could escape.

"I don't know," she admitted after a moment. "I don't think he would ever actually join their side—but he never trusted me enough to be honest with me. I didn't know what to believe." She took a shaky breath, realizing she was fighting tears, revisiting her breakup for the first time. "And then he wanted me to run away with him—"

"But your family," James interjected firmly, his brow furrowed. "Your friends, and—and everything here—"

 _And me,_ he wasn't saying, but she heard it still, loud and clear.

"That's what _I_ said," she replied, chewing her lip as she delicately left him out of it. "But I think for Severus it was only ever about me, about us—not about what I _was_ , you know?" She sighed. "I'm sure I'm supposed to think that's romantic or something, that he loved me so much that I was the only thing he cared about—"

"But he should love the things _you_ care about, too," James protested, running a finger along her cheek. "He should know that where you came from makes you who you are, and that you—that you're—"

He came to an abrupt, sputtering stop, the rest of the sentence carrying off into the space between them.

"I'm what?" Lily asked dazedly, and instead of answering, he pulled her close and kissed her, roughly and uninhibitedly, like he was carving the word _mine_ into her breath.

"It doesn't matter," James told her when he broke away, his voice husky and cracked. "You're not running, Evans. I won't let you run."

"Good," she whispered, and when he moved to roll on top of her, slowly kissing her neck, she stopped him, moving instead to push him back against the bed.

"Let me do this," she offered softly, watching his eyes start to glaze over as she kissed her way down his torso. "After all, it _is_ your birthday, James."

"Best fucking birthday of all time," he muttered, as she licked the tip of his cock, smiling.

* * *

"It's a stag party!" Peter said, gesturing around the common room to the streamers and balloons. "Get it, Prongs?"

"Clever," James chuckled, patting Peter's head and then adjusting his own headgear for the evening. "Wordplay, excellent."

"Stag party?" Lily repeated, appearing at his side and frowning. "Aren't those for when people get marri-"

"Hush, Lils," Sirius drawled, reaching an arm around her to place his hand lightly over her mouth. "You know not that which you speak."

"Have you been drinking?" she asked, pulling his hand down and twisting around to look at him. "You seem like—"

"Heavens, _no_ ," Sirius exclaimed, fanning himself and feigning offense. "Lils, your finely tuned Head Girl senses are failing you to deep humiliation."

Sirius winked at James, who took advantage of Lily's distraction to pull the flask out from the pocket of his school robes and take a brief sip, raising it cheerfully and then fumbling to stow it back as she turned.

"Well," she began, her lips pursing slightly, " _fine_. Have a run of shenanigans if you wish—"

"Hijinks," they corrected her in unison.

"—and I'll just head back," she sighed, shaking her head at them. "I've got some work to finish." She leaned over to tap Peter's shoulder, smiling warmly. "Thanks for inviting me up, Pete," she said kindly, before waving to Remus and reaching up on tiptoe to kiss Sirius' cheek. "See you—"

"Evans, wait," James called, taking three long strides to catch her before she disappeared through the portrait and reaching out, his fingers brushing the waistband of her skirt. "Are you sure you don't want to—"

"Potter!" she hissed, pushing his hand away and glancing around. "Someone could have _seen_ that—"

"So let them see," he said, shrugging. "You're not nearly as embarrassed by me as you'd have me believe, Evans," he added, allowing the pleasant buzz of old firewhisky to toy with his better judgment. "I know perfectly well that you don't want me to go anywhere, you said it yourself—"

"I said nothing of the sort," she argued primly, placing her hands on her hips.

 _Adorable,_ he thought, chuckling to himself at her unfailing obstinacy. "You said it with your _eyes,_ " he clarified, and she scowled, giving him a little shove.

"You _have_ been drinking, haven't you?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "Tell Sirius he's a shoddy liar."

"Oh, he knows," James said, wishing he could kiss her. He took a step closer, speaking into her ear. "Later, then?" he murmured.

He felt her sway helplessly towards him before stepping away without a word, firm in her thoroughly unconvincing opposition. She yanked the portrait open and gave him a brisk shove before stepping through it, evidently intent on not answering.

Not that he would ever let that stand.

"Well, Evans?" he called after her, and she turned, groaning petulantly as he flashed her what he knew to be a thoroughly expectant smirk.

" _Yes_ , Potter, okay?" she growled, looking furious with him, herself, and everyone within a twenty foot radius before finally letting her scorn melt to a small, barely perceptible smile, a stunning mix of what he suspected was both affection and exasperation. " _Yes_."

He grinned as the portrait fell shut and then turned away, heading back to his friends and floating on something that was either a slight haze of firewhisky, or merely the effect of Lily Evans herself.

Maybe both. The sensation was certainly quite similar.

"What was that?" Remus asked curiously, eyeing the place where Lily had been.

"A fairly in-character argument," James supplied, digging Sirius' flask out of his pocket. "Anyone?"

"Oh," Peter began, "I haven't—"

"Me," Sirius declared, snatching it from him. "Having a good birthday, Prongs?" he asked, taking a swig. "You're normally much more demanding," he added, in what James considered a highly accusatory tone.

"Oh, _please_ ," James sniffed. "That is complete and utter—"

"Veracity," Remus supplied, taking the flask from Sirius. "That is wildly true."

"Yes," Peter chimed in, "remember when—"

"I think you mean spectacularly false!" James insisted, pouting at Remus. "I only ever ask for a quiet night, don't I?"

"Not until after you've buggered us all into fawning over you in the morning," Sirius told him, reaching around to loop his fingers around Remus' belt. "Speaking of, I'm surprised you didn't come wake us just to shout about your birthday. Did you actually sleep in this morning?"

"Yes," James lied, careful to keep his expression stiff despite the surging need to inform them of what he'd _actually_ been doing that had caused him to miss breakfast. "I'm very tired. Head Boy of the Year is an exceptionally demanding reputation to uphold."

"Oh, certainly," Remus agreed with a smile. "Responsibility must weigh heavily indeed."

"It really does," James remarked, taking a swig from the flask as it was passed to him. "It's so _hard_ being such an admirable student leader," he lamented, letting the firewhisky burn its way down his throat.

"Must be, considering how absent you've been," Sirius agreed. "Hardly ever barging in _at all_ these days—"

"Which is fine," Remus said quickly. "Feel free to continue with that."

"—and what with you constantly talking to Dumbledore like you're _conspirators_ or something—"

Peter looked startled. "You talked to Dumbledore?"

"I brought something up to him," James confirmed, shrugging. "Trying to talk him into something, as it were."

"'Something' being your mad concept of guerilla-style rebellion, is it?" Remus asked, with the distinct implication that James was a puppy who'd just pissed on the floor. "I'm starting to think Padfoot shouldn't have introduced you to that _completely_ unrealistic space film—"

"Star Wars is canon!" Sirius yelped. "How dare you, Remus?"

"It might be perfectly unrealistic to have flying space machines, I'll give you that," James permitted grandly, "but there's _always_ a time for guerilla warfare."

"I hope you understand how much you saying that worries me," Remus remarked in a low voice, shaking his head. " _Especially_ if you're crowning yourself king of the rebels."

"Luke Spaceflyer—"

Sirius groaned. " _Skywalker_ , Prongs!"

"—is not a _king_ , Remus," James informed him, "and nor am I."

"You are literally wearing a large crown as we speak," Remus sighed, reaching up to knock the conjured tin object from James' head.

"I'm a _birthday_ king, it's different," James sniffed, shifting it back. "This is only for a day."

"But you're Head Dickhead for a lifetime," Sirius confirmed, throwing an arm around his neck. "Who cares what else is going on outside these walls?"

"It's _not_ outside these walls," James protested. "Snape's been recruited by You-Know-Who, which means—"

"What?" Peter asked, startled. "Snape?"

"Oh no," Remus said, his face going white. "How do you know that?"

"Well," James muttered, backtracking, "I, er—" He glanced down. "I _don't_ know it, technically, but I have it on very good authority that—"

"Whose authority?" Sirius asked curiously. "Lils?"

"Prongs, what if that's what's been going on with Snape?" Remus asked, gripping his arm tightly. "He was worried about Mulciber, who _must_ be one of them—"

James squinted in curiosity as he watched Peter's gaze drop slightly.

"—and he's only looked worse and worse—"

"So?" James asked, tearing his attention from Peter to focus instead on Remus, who was clearly well into the throes of panic. "You can't tell me you blame _yourself_ for that—"

"Of course I do," Remus interrupted, his eyes wide. "I told you, didn't I?" he ventured, rounding on Sirius. "I _told_ you he must have needed something—"

"And what were _you_ going to do about it?" Sirius prompted, glancing dubiously back at Remus. "Give him a hug, then? Braid his hair and comfort him?"

"Not funny," Remus snarled, becoming surprisingly wolflike in his impatience. "You joke, Sirius, but your interruption might have done something _catastrophic_ —"

"Like what?" Sirius countered angrily, and James blinked, dizzied by the haze of his suddenly fading buzz and the unexpected surge of tension between his two best friends. "Like give him the nudge he needed out the door? He was already halfway there, Remus, he's been up to his neck in dark arts since we were fucking _kids—_ "

"That doesn't _mean_ anything!" Remus shouted. "If he came to me for help he _must_ have been conflicted, there must be part of him that doesn't _want_ this—"

And then, like a tap on his shoulder, James had an idea.

"Wormtail," he said suddenly, "I need the map back."

"What?" Peter asked, and Remus and Sirius glanced at him, pausing their confrontation to turn their heads.

"The map," James repeated. "I need it back. I need it _now_."

"For what?" Sirius demanded, just as Remus sighed, "Say _please,_ Prongs."

"I have to do something," James murmured, straightening his crown and thinking. "I just—I think that Moony's right—"

"Prongs!" Sirius roared, looking utterly betrayed. "But—"

"—and I just need to do something," James finished, refocusing his attention on Peter. "Can you grab it for me, Wormy?"

Peter, to his surprise, hesitated. "You'll give it back though, won't you?" he asked tentatively, not meeting James' eye.

"Why, are you using it for something?" Sirius asked, frowning at him. "What've you been doing with it?"

James quietly agreed, though he could see Peter wasn't taking the questioning well.

"I—nothing," Peter said guiltily, "I just thought I was sort of, you know, the one taking care of it and whatnot—"

"We all made the thing, Wormy, it doesn't have to have a keeper," James sighed. "But I need it _now_ , so if you could—"

He stopped, seeing something worrying on Peter's face; his eyes seemed to flicker angrily, and James, still not entirely sober, couldn't imagine what to make of it.

"Sure," Peter said abruptly, turning toward their dorms with a stiff, gritted expression. "One second."

They watched as he walked away, his fists clenching slightly.

"Did I do something?" James asked, looking to Remus.

"I'm not sure," Remus replied, frowning.

"Are you done being mad at _me_?" Sirius asked, nudging him.

Remus shook his head. "Not sure about that either," he said.

"Well?" James prompted, nudging his crown jauntily to the side of his head. "What _are_ you sure about?"

Remus fixed him with an imperious Professor Lupin glare. "I'm sure that whatever you're doing is probably stupid," he pronounced, grimacing, "and you really shouldn't do it."

James shrugged. "Have to," he said, and then clarified, "Going to."

"But—" Remus began, grimacing, "are you _sure_ —"

"Birthday privileges," James determined, crossing his arms to indicate finality.

Remus sighed. "I _hate_ your birthday, Prongs."

* * *

"Was that knocking?" Caleb asked, and Darian stood, approaching the stone wall that served as the entryway to the Slytherin common room.

"I think so," he said, frowning. "What kind of idiot—"

"SNAPE!" they heard James Potter's voice bellow. "SNAPE, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE—"

" _That_ kind of idiot," Darian determined with a scowl.

"Oh _yes_ ," Caleb erupted eagerly, leaping to his feet. "Yes, I am thoroughly pleased with this turn of events—you deal with Potter, I'll grab Severus—"

He took off into the bedrooms, his hair glinting in the firelight.

"Drama queen," Darian muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes, but he conceded to open the passage, catching James' intolerably pompous face beneath a childish metal crown that sat unstably on his head. "Potter," he ventured, reaching for false hospitality. "You rang?"

"Snape," James supplied instantly, glancing anxiously behind him. "Need to talk to him."

"For what?" Darian asked crossly, leaning against the frame of the entryway. "Not expecting a birthday present, I'd hope," he added, knocking the flimsy crown from James' head and letting it fall to the floor with a hollow thunk.

"Forgot about that," James grumbled, kicking it aside. "And no," he added, louder. "We have something to discuss."

"Oh, I doubt that very much," Darian murmured, just as Caleb and Severus materialized from the dorms. "But let's find out, shall we?"

"Snape," James said, leaping forward, "I need to talk to you—"

"I've heard," Severus replied sullenly. Caleb glanced at Darian, who shrugged.

"Well," James began, shifting awkwardly. "Is there somewhere—"

"Not here." Severus glanced at Caleb, who, Darian had to admit, looked entirely _too_ curious. "Outside."

"Fine," James permitted, gesturing to where he still stood outside the dungeons and inviting Severus with a shrug. "Won't take long."

"Better not," Severus muttered, brushing brusquely past Darian before letting the wall slide shut behind him.

It was perhaps less than an instant before Caleb stepped forward to follow and Darian threw out an arm, stopping him. "Not yet," he muttered, listening for signs of fading footsteps outside.

"What, and miss it?" Caleb exclaimed, frowning. "I want to see what crazy murder spell Severus has probably had scribbled into his Potions book for the last six or so years—"

"I don't think that's what this is," Darian said, frowning in thought. "Potter looked more anxious than smug, if you ask me."

"That doesn't mean Severus won't stun him right in the sodding _face_ ," Caleb said, smirking gleefully. "But if you insist—"

"I do," Darian confirmed. "There's only one thing that would get Potter that kind of antsy, don't you think?"

"Which is?" Caleb prompted.

"Reconciliation," Darian pronounced slowly. "I suspect Potter's looking to make nice," he added, more secure in the concept once he'd said it out loud.

"You look sure about that," Caleb commented, artfully indifferent.

"I'm _quite_ certain, in fact," Darian agreed, smiling slowly at the thought. "Potter can't be arsed to pick a fight with Severus. If he were, he'd have done so already."

"You think?" Caleb said, eyeing him carefully before adding, "I can see you're brewing a concept of sorts."

Darian nodded. "Something's happened with Potter and Evans," he supplied, shrugging. "They're fucking, I'd guess—"

"Did notice something was off," Caleb agreed. "She's never been good about covert glances."

"That, and he's a fucking _bundle_ of tells," Darian offered, shaking his head. "So if this has anything to do with _her_ —"

"Oh, he wouldn't," Caleb said giddily. "Tell me he fucking _wouldn't—_ "

"—he's definitely not here for a fight." Darian smiled. "But I hope Severus gives him one, naturally, and we should be there for the fallout."

"You're sure Potter's not here to pick a fight _over_ Evans?" Caleb suggested. "A love triangle, perhaps?"

"Snape was scared shitless of Evans' disapproval," Darian reminded him. "There's no way Potter's going to try anything that might upset her."

Caleb made a face. "What the fuck _is_ it with Evans?"

"Don't know," Darian replied, though it was a half truth at best. She wasn't nearly the prim swot she pretended to be, he knew that much, but while he might have wondered what was below her layers of false modesty—might have sensed that there was something more interesting underneath—it wasn't worth the fascination. "But if anyone is going to convince Severus that there's nothing else left for him with Evans, it's going to be James fucking Potter," he determined, and Caleb nodded his assent.

"Still," Caleb muttered under his breath. "It's like she's got a summoning charm in her pussy." He looked down, checking his watch with an eager impatience. "Now, you think?"

"Sure," Darian agreed, sliding the wall open to slip outside with Caleb following at his heels. "This way?" he asked, gesturing, just as they nearly walked into Slughorn.

"What-ho there, good man!" Slughorn exclaimed, looking around. "Have a care, Mr Mulciber—"

"Sorry," Darian mumbled, backing away, but Slughorn merely dusted a brief square of his belly and shrugged.

"Haven't seen Mr Potter, have you?" he ventured, looking between them.

Darian and Caleb exchanged a questioning glance, tacitly agreeing to silence.

"No," Darian replied. "Why are you looking for him in the dungeons?"

"Ah, Minerv- that is, Professor McGonagall was looking for him, and she asked that we professors keep an eye out." He shook his head, looking a bit forlorn. "A tragedy for that young man, indeed, I must say—"

"Tragedy?" Caleb echoed, frowning. "Why?"

"Ah, not for me to say, my boy," Slughorn sighed. "But if you do come across our Head Boy, send him up to the Headmaster's office, won't you?"

"Will do," Darian noted, and Slughorn nodded solemnly before continuing through the dungeons.

"Odd," Caleb remarked, but he quickly recovered, shaking off one curiosity for another. "Come on," he said, gesturing for Darian to proceed. "I'm betting they went this way."

* * *

The moment they were outside, Severus gripped his wand, not trusting James Potter for an instant.

"What do you want?" Severus asked sharply, feeling a heated fury course through him as he gritted his teeth against the words _how dare you_ , _how fucking_ dare _you come here, how dare you think I have_ anything _to say to you—_

"I'd hoped you'd manage some fucking civility," James sniffed, "but I suppose if you'd prefer to get down to it—"

"I would," Severus confirmed, bristling.

"Fine. Is it true?" James asked bluntly, staring at him as they rounded the corner. "That You-Know-Who wants you?"

Severus, startled, forced himself to scoff, buying a moment as he considered his answer. "You don't know what you're saying, Potter, _as usual_ ," he began, "and I wouldn't advise you to—"

"She thinks so," James supplied. "Evans thinks so."

For a moment, Severus gaped at him, wondering how it would be possible for James Potter to feel he could come so directly to such a loaded conclusion; but then, punishingly, his mind served him the stomach-turning image of Lily's surreptitious—or so she probably thought, but she had never been particularly discreet—glances at James. Severus thought of the tentative glint in her green eyes that he had told himself was his imagination—the expression of longing he'd happily convinced himself was confined to foolish tricks of the light—and felt his innards twist.

"Is that what this is, then?" Severus asked, resentment suddenly bitter on his tongue. "You came here to rub it in my face that you're with her, did you?"

"I'm not," James protested, but it was a horrible, gut-wrenching beat too late; there was a moment's tick of hesitation that smacked of guilt and falsehood. "I'm not _with_ her—"

"Oh, so she's keeping you a secret too, then," Severus pronounced roughly, with a throb of something that was both envy and a terrible, terrible hatred for the man before him, which became a perverse kind of pleasure when James flinched. "You think she wants you, do you? That _you're_ her first choice?"

"I don't need to be her first," James replied, though Severus wondered how he could stomach it when Severus himself was decaying from the inside just being within arm's reach of him—of where she must have been, her auburn hair splayed around _his_ chest, her contented sigh skating across _his_ skin, her fingers threading comfortingly through _his_ —

"I'll be her last," James murmured, with a breath of stubborn victory.

"You won't," Severus growled. "You think you're different, Potter? You think she won't wake up one day and realize she was keeping you from everyone for a reason?" He stepped closer, wanting to see James' face go pale; to see the twist of a scowl when he _realized_ —"She'll discard you when she's done with you, Potter, no different than—"

"I told you, I'm not here about her," James spat, and Severus reveled in it; in the look of fear that flashed in James' eyes. Severus knew it well. He knew the tightening in his chest—knew the grip she'd had on his heart—well enough to know when the fear of being without her was displaying itself so familiarly on the face of the man he'd never hated more. "I know something's going on, Snape."

"And what, then?" Severus asked. "You thought you'd hustle it out of me, did you?" He curled his hand tighter around his wand. "Figured you'd be a hero, turning me over to Dumbledore?"

James growled his frustration. "No, I'm not fucking— _fuck_ , Snape," he gritted out, "you're a real fucking git, you know that?"

"I'm certainly not going to waste an ounce of my better nature on _you_ ," Severus retorted. "And if you were expecting hospitality from me, maybe you needn't have opened with the fact that you're—you're—" He hesitated, every bit of him pulsing violently at the thought, but he forced himself to say it. "You're _fucking_ Lily—"

"That's not what I'm doing," James said quietly. "I'm not _fucking_ her."

Severus recognized something else in James' face, then; something worse, and it consumed him, it flooded him, enraged him and _broke him_ —

"You love her," he croaked hoarsely.

James' eyes widened and he swallowed, saying nothing; but there was enough truth in that to equal a shout, and something inside Severus was screaming, torn apart and withering, ripping to shreds at the idea that if James Potter actually _loved_ her and if she looked at him _like that_ then maybe—

 _No._

He turned his back to leave and James gripped his arm, pulling him back.

"This isn't about her or me. This is about _you_ ," James said quietly, rushing the words out as if he feared he couldn't stomach them much longer. "It's about her only in that she cares about you, and I don't need a reason to sit back and watch you join their side when I know you don't really want it—I _know_ you don't fucking want to take anyone's side that's not hers—"

"You don't know me at all," Severus snarled, yanking his arm out of James' grip. The words themselves might have been true, he knew, and the offering something meaningful, but the mouthpiece they came from was wretched. "What are you trying to say, Potter?"

"I'm saying we can fight him," James returned stubbornly. "That we should fucking _fight_ him—"

"We're teenagers," Severus countered, furious that James was so cavalier about something so wildly outside the realm of possibility. "This isn't a time for careless measures, Potter! This is no romp in the forest with your werewolf _pal_ —"

"Don't you want to _do_ something with your life?" James ventured urgently, stepping forward after him. "Don't you want to actually—I don't know, _be_ someone?"

"Be someone," Severus echoed, blinking in disbelief. "Because I'm not?"

"Of course not!" James exclaimed, and Severus' head spun, dizzied by James' arrogance _,_ by his intolerable audacity, by the ease with which he could reduce Severus to _nothing_. "Don't you want to actually have something to show for yourself? Don't you want to be something more than just—"

 _Aren't you growing tired of people who don't recognize you for what you are?_ Severus heard Darian ask, feeling his ego swell under the blistering pain of James' condescension.

"Do you even have _any idea_ why he wants me?" Severus interrupted, eye to eye with Potter and brimming with fury. "You don't, do you?"

"I—" James attempted, looking pathetically lost. "You're a Slytherin, and you're—"

 _And what do you think I am?_

 _Brilliant,_ Darian had said. _Meant for something significant, don't you think?_

"He wants me because I'm _good_ ," Severus snarled. "He wants me because I have _talent,_ because I'm not a lazy, showboating waste of space like _you_ —"

"I'm trying to fucking _help_ you," James shouted back. "I'm _trying_ —"

 _Picture it, Severus,_ he heard in his mind; Darian's voice again. _Picture your life—_

And he did. For the first time, he pictured it—James Potter at the helm of their mad rebellion, their foolish experiment that was doomed to end in anguish; a life that revolved around James Potter and his moronic bravado, his imbecilic recklessness. James Potter, who'd never been _tested_ , who'd never tasted loss or pain or suffering, whose hopelessly charmed life could never outpace a Dark Lord's wand; James Potter, who had Lily in his arms and now dangled her, like a prize that Severus would never reach, as though Severus could take any consolation in her presence; James Potter, who loved Lily, and perhaps, in some cruel twist of fate, was loved by her in return; James Potter, who _already had Lily_ —

"I don't need your help!" Severus erupted, the thought too painful to swallow. "I don't need to settle for some kind of— _contented mediocrity_ —"

He paused, cringing, as he realized where those words had escaped from.

"Well said, Severus," Darian murmured smoothly, stepping out from behind him. "Unfortunately—"

" _Deeply_ unfortunately," Caleb added, appearing at his side.

"—this will have to continue another time, as it seems Potter's presence is requested elsewhere," Darian finished, his careless drawl edged with something Severus felt sickened to realize must have been satisfaction before turning to James. "Potter," he added, with an impossible amount of condescension poured into the single word that Severus wished himself capable of mustering, "Dumbledore wants you."

James, who had not yielded in agitation, stared at Darian. "For what?"

"Don't know," Darian replied, eyeing his fingernails.

"Don't care, either," Caleb clarified.

James frowned, moving to exit, but turned to glance warily at Severus. "We're not done here," he said, his voice less a low warning than an exhausted plea.

"Oh, yes, you very much are," Darian scoffed, looking positively humored by James' presumption. As Darian and Caleb stepped to flank him on either side, Severus felt a brief moment of gratitude for them; for the idea that for once—for the _first time_ —he didn't have to be alone.

"Sounds to me like Sev here has already made his point," Darian continued, glancing over as the same wicked smirk that Severus had spent months loathing now appeared to serve its purpose. "Haven't you, Sev?"

"I have," Severus confirmed, and James shook his head and said nothing, heading to the exit with a regretful grimace painted solemnly on his face. His last glance, aimed at Severus, was filled with something that was either pity, apology, or else something much worse—

Regret.

 _What have I just done?_ Severus wondered, his mouth going dry as James finally disappeared from sight.

He felt Darian's arm sling over his shoulder. "Well," Darian ventured, "I think that was a wonderful bonding experience for us, don't you?"

"I certainly did," Caleb agreed. "I feel as though we've really made some strides in our relationship, don't you, Sev?"

Severus, realizing for a moment what he may have just brought upon himself, quickly slipped out from under Darian's arm.

"This doesn't mean I want anything to do with what you two are doing," Severus said frantically, jabbing a finger at them. "Nothing has changed—I'm not one of _you_ —"

"Sure you're not," Darian agreed, a slow, knowing smile spreading over his face as he reached out to pat Severus' shoulder. "I wouldn't dream of leaping to conclusions."

"Nothing's changed," Severus croaked again, hoping, somehow, he could _will_ it to be true.

"Oh, Severus," Darian chuckled. " _Sure_ it hasn't."


	20. The Prince

**Chapter 20: The Prince**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: steady. Curtains: closing. What you knew: in the past. Political climate: beware what comes calling when you ask for a fight._

* * *

"Professor," James barked, shaking off the frustration from his conversation with Severus and barging into the Headmaster's office, "about the guerilla warfare I suggested—"

James stopped abruptly as he noted Dumbledore's presence, seated somberly at his desk. The back of McGonagall's unmistakable head was across from him, and James' gaze shifted, gradually cataloguing both his head of house and the empty chair pulled out expectantly beside her.

"Mr Potter," McGonagall said gently, turning around to face him. "Please sit, won't you?"

James, who had heard very little bad news in his life but still knew its presence when he saw it, paused where he stood, looking questioningly at Dumbledore. There were few things so terrible they had to be spoken directly from the Headmaster's mouth, and James immediately froze, his mind not even wandering to consider the possibilities.

"Mr Potter," Dumbledore ventured, pausing to rub an unmistakable weariness from his eyes, "sit down, won't you?"

James hesitated, his eyes traveling to the chair. "Can it wait?" he asked, hearing a childish whimper in his voice and hating himself for it. "I think Professor McGonagall might be interested in my mismanaged rebellion," he added quickly, "and Merlin knows she's the best there is, so—"

"James," Dumbledore interrupted gently, flicking his wand to nudge the chair towards James' feet, "please. Have a seat."

"No," James replied stubbornly, blinking. It had become clear to him that sitting would mean uncovering something terrible—sitting would be defeat, or at least acquiescence to misfortune—and as a hasty alternative, he found himself compelled to run. "I mean," he corrected himself, lowering his gaze sheepishly, "no, thank you."

McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged a glance, and then McGonagall stood, gently looping her arm through James'. "Come now, Mr Potter," she murmured kindly, taking tiny, hesitant steps to match his unwilling ones as she nudged him forward. "Better that we sit."

She tapped his shoulder and he obligingly dropped himself into the chair. A wave of nausea suddenly delivered him to urgency and he grimaced, wishing to get it over with.

"Tell me," James demanded sharply, looking up at Dumbledore. "Something happened, didn't it?" He glanced expectantly between the two professors. "Is it my mother? My father?"

McGonagall's gaze dropped to the clasped hands in her lap, her face tired and drawn. "Please don't interrupt me, Mr Potter," she said softly, "as this will be very difficult to say."

The non-answer was haunting; James managed a nod.

McGonagall took a deep breath, trying to settle herself. "Your mother fell ill last week," she began, "and—"

"Wait," James cut in, fidgeting as he saw McGonagall's eyes start to water. "I—I think Sirius should be here," he explained, looking pleadingly to Dumbledore. "I know you said not to interrupt, but it just—" He shook his head, eyeing his knees. "He should be here."

Dumbledore looked at McGonagall, who nodded slowly.

"Okay," McGonagall agreed, rising to her feet. "I'll get him, Albus." She paused, glancing at James' bowed head. "Perhaps Mr Lupin as well," she murmured, half to herself, and James nodded, keeping his eyes down and watching McGonagall's robes trail along the ground as she swept out of the chamber.

"Well," Dumbledore said uncomfortably, "would you prefer to wait in silence, Mr Potter?"

James stiffened, forcing himself to think of anything but the conversation he was about to have, the grim inevitability of which already churned his stomach. "No," he muttered quietly, then looked up. "I'd prefer to discuss what we're going to do about You-Know-Who, I think," he determined, louder.

Dumbledore sighed. "This may not be the most opportune time, James—"

"Of course it is!" James erupted, rising to his feet. "What other time could there be, Professor?" He paused, swallowing. "How much time do you think we _get_?"

At that, Dumbledore had the decency to appear humbled. "Just enough, if we're lucky," he murmured, though he looked thoughtful, appearing to consider what James had said.

"He's here, you know," James asserted firmly, staring down at the seated Headmaster. "Not _here_ , physically, but he's—"

He hesitated, thinking of the look on Severus Snape's face. _Do you even have any idea why he wants me?_

James knew right away he'd said something wrong in his attempt to appeal to Severus, but there had been no derailing the error; Severus' face had hardened, he'd grown defensive, and just like that, there was no coming back.

"Admittedly, I am not as uninformed as I may appear to be," Dumbledore conceded with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. "Though, as I've said, I'm not sure how wise it would be for me to construct a—"

"Mismanaged teenage rebellion, I know," James supplied, grumbling. "But something's got to be done, hasn't it?" he asked imploringly. "And if we're willing to do it, what does it matter who we are, or whether we're just kids?"

Dumbledore paused, appearing to parse his words out carefully. "It would be unwise of me, as an administrator, to encourage such things," he said. "I'm afraid that at this particular moment in time, it would be highly irresponsible to try to recruit my students to a cause that may ultimately put them at risk. That, I think," he added slowly, "would be outside the realm of a _Headmaster's_ sphere of influence."

"But," James protested, and then stopped, reading between the lines as he caught the intent in Dumbledore's gaze. "Oh," he said, realizing, falling back into his seat and propping his chin up with an elbow. "Hm."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, offering him the subtlest of approving nods.

At that, James sat back quietly, glancing around the office and considering what might be within the realm of a Head Boy's sphere of influence before recalling with a sudden pang why he was there.

"It's my birthday, Headmaster," James remarked. "Did you know that?"

"I didn't," Dumbledore replied, a look of despondency flickering briefly across his aging face. "Many happy returns, Mr Potter."

"My mother usually sends me a basket of things, you know," James added tangentially, "nothing too important; Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizbees, that ilk." He paused. "Just… something sweet from her and my father, so I know they're thinking of me."

Dumbledore looked pained, but said nothing.

"I didn't get anything this morning," James continued softly. "I thought she might have forgotten." His eyes watered and he rubbed at them with the back of his wrist, trying to control the sudden sharpness that stung in his throat. "She's getting on in age, sir," he explained, looking up and suffering a helpless need to carry on the conversation. "Things sometimes slip her mind."

Dumbledore swallowed, raising his hand to his mouth. "James," he said quietly, "I think—"

Behind them, the office door opened, a rush of cool air from the castle corridor cutting him off as Sirius and Remus entered, McGonagall following behind.

"What's this about?" Sirius pressed, his usual jovial air seeming to cause the small chamber, which was bereft of any energy at all, to suddenly overfill. "James, have you been up to any—"

"Sirius," Remus whispered, catching James' expression and gripping Sirius' arm. "Not now, mate."

Sirius frowned, glancing between James and Dumbledore before nodding his hesitant agreement. McGonagall, who had transfigured two additional chairs and levitated them beside James' seat, waited until Sirius and Remus had filled them before pulling out her own, angling it towards them.

"I'm going to be brief," she offered apologetically, taking another deep breath, "as I'm not sure there is a painless way to go about this."

James glanced at Sirius, who paled.

"Euphemia Potter fell ill last week with dragon pox," she exhaled. "From what I understand, your father didn't want to worry you," she explained, glancing at James, "and so he thought he would wait to tell you until he could speak to you in person. Unfortunately—"

She broke off, swallowing. "Unfortunately, Fleamont took ill as well, and with no other family available to alert you as to their condition—"

She looked down, aging ten years in the span of a breath. "Unfortunately—"

"They're gone, aren't they?" James asked, and Sirius let out a choked-sounding gasp, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands as Remus reached forward, resting his palms on each of their shoulders. "Just tell us, Professor."

McGonagall sighed; James wilted.

"Euphemia passed late last night," McGonagall explained, looking as though she hated the words for even occurring to her. "Fleamont followed this morning."

 _Have a lovely term, James, darling,_ Euphemia had said, a smile on her face; the smile she reserved only for him. _Behave yourself, won't you?_

Her last words to him.

His last to her: _Oh, always, Mother, how dare you?_

He crumpled with shame.

 _Oh, you rascal,_ Fleamont had said, giving him a hug. _Love you, James. Be nice to that Lily girl, son—don't be difficult._

James shut his eyes, trying not to remember what he'd said back, but feeling betrayed by it anyway—

 _Father, honestly, I haven't the slightest idea where you get your impression of me; as if I'm anything but a gentleman,_ he'd pronounced briskly, rolling his eyes as he leapt onto the train, scarcely sparing them a second glance.

 _I'm sorry,_ he told them now, wherever they were; _I thought I had more time._

"James," Remus said, his grip tightening on his shoulder; beside him, Sirius was furiously wiping at his eyes, looking, for the first time that James could remember, dulled by sadness. "James, are you alright?"

James turned slowly, first to offer a single nod to Remus and then to face Sirius, whose grey eyes met his with more anguish than he had ever witnessed in them before; more pain than when he had fought with Walburga; more even than when he had left home, showing up at the Potters' with a single bag and look of grim disappointment.

"Pads," James said quietly, "our mum and dad died."

"I know, Prongs," Sirius said, reaching out for him and pulling him into a tight hug, James' head pressing into his shoulder. "I know."

* * *

She was waiting for him in the common room and was surprised to find the somber procession that entered their dorm; James and Sirius both appeared to have been crying, and Remus gripped both their arms tightly as they clambered through the portrait hole.

"Potter," Lily attempted, but Remus shook his head, giving her a sad look of warning; James, for his part, seemed to have barely noticed her, his gaze fixed straight ahead as he slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

"Pete," Lily breathed, catching him at the end of their confusing parade of sorrow, "what happened?"

"I don't have the full story," Peter replied quietly. "Remus has been fussing over them and hasn't given much for explanation, but I've gathered that James' parents both passed away sometime today."

"No," Lily gasped, thinking of the way James' gaze had flickered with dismay over not receiving an owl from his parents. "Both?"

"Again, I've no details," Peter sighed, "but the gist of it is that, yes—"

"Thanks, Pete," Lily whispered, glancing up the stairs; the other three had shut the door behind them. "I have to—"

"I don't know, Lil," Peter interrupted hesitantly, "he seemed like he didn't want to see anyone. Or maybe just not me," he muttered, half under his breath, but Lily didn't hear him, intent on the door above and the messy-haired man inside.

"He'll see me," Lily pronounced with certainty. She gave Peter's arm a squeeze before heading up the stairs, slowly turning the knob and nudging the door open.

Remus was closest to the door and he looked at her with a mix of apprehension and anguish, his scars especially stark against the sallow paleness of his skin.

"I wouldn't," he began to say gently, but Lily shoved past him, glancing instead at the two raven-haired boys who sat on the edge of the bed. James, who in all the time she'd known him had never held his chin any less than jauntily aloft, was tucked firmly away from the doorframe, curled in around himself.

"I want to see him," she demanded, and Sirius turned, his hand still on James' shoulder.

"Lils," Sirius croaked, his voice uncharacteristically thin and pained, "this isn't a great time—"

"Shut up," she growled, stepping forward and shoving him brusquely aside.

James was startled by her presence, his eyes wide and red-rimmed, and his mouth opened in surprise as she threw herself into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his ear.

"James," she murmured. "James, I'm so sorry—"

He melted in her arms and she held him still as he buried his face in her shoulder, her own fingers tangling themselves in his hair as she whispered in his ear, _I'm sorry, James, I'm so sorry, you're not alone, James—_

"Oh," Sirius said behind them, backing towards Remus and the door. "Missed something, I think."

"Shh," admonished Remus fondly, pulling him outside the room and letting the door shut carefully behind him.

Lily pulled James against her, the two of them collapsing in a tangle of limbs and sharp, painful breaths, his head against her thudding heart and her hand pressed over his. Some kisses were collisions, she thought, and others were brushes of sighs, but when his lips met hers and she gave him everything she possessed in a breath, she knew that this one was healing.

They stayed there, holding each other in silence, for what felt like several hours.

"You know Sirius will have told everyone about us by now," he croaked eventually, her head resting on his chest with her hair splayed over his shoulder.

"Someone once told me that I'm not as embarrassed of you as I'd have you believe," Lily murmured back, and James reached down, twining his fingers with hers.

"Someone wise?" he asked.

"Not even a little," she replied. "But I like him fine."

She felt him smile, his lips brushing her forehead.

"I really am sorry, James," she whispered.

He paused for a moment, raising his free hand to stroke her hair.

"They liked you, you know," he said after a moment, and she shivered a little at the intimacy of the confession. "My father"—he paused, swallowing with difficulty at the thought of him—"my father told me to marry you, actually."

Lily held her breath. "And your mother?"

His heart pounded beneath her ear. "She said you'd come round," he murmured. "But she always gave me more credit than I was due."

Another day, Lily thought, and she might have agreed with him; might have toyed with him, with the delightful fragility of his ego, just to see his mouth twist into his crooked smile of feigned offense. Not today.

Today, she told him the truth.

"I don't think so," Lily told him. "I think she saw things exceptionally clearly."

He nodded, pulling her tight against him.

"It seems strange," he admitted, "the thought that they were here yesterday, and now they're not."

She hummed her wistful agreement. "Makes you wonder what any of us leave behind, doesn't it?" she asked. "Legacy, I suppose."

He held his breath, saddened.

"One son," James sighed. "Doesn't quite seem enough."

She nudged his chin up, taking hold of it to make him look at her. "You're enough," she told him. "You're more than enough. After all," she added, attempting to coax more of his blessed humor into the conversation, "you're just as shitty as I am."

To her relief, he managed a smile. "True."

She looked down at her fingers where they were laced with his and sighed, feeling helpless. "I want to make you feel better," she said, and paused, considering it further. "I want you to be sad," she decided thoughtfully, "but I also want to make you happy."

"You will," he promised, and then, after a moment, amended, "You _do_."

"I just—I can't imagine how you feel," she admitted. "I can't even fathom how much it must"—she slipped her hand from his, letting it hover over his heart—" _hurt._ "

"It does," he agreed. "But it'll get better."

She nodded, and he kissed her forehead again. "I'm glad they went together, at least," he said, after perhaps another minute of silence. "I don't think they'd have wanted to be apart."

"No," Lily agreed, "I suppose they wouldn't."

And for a moment—in a glance—she thought she knew exactly what he meant.

* * *

"Snape's gone to bed," Caleb informed him, taking a seat, "as has everyone else."

"Good," Darian said with a nod, settling himself in front of the Slytherin common room fire. "Make sure nobody else comes in."

"I'm pretty clear on the concept, Darian," Caleb said smoothly, but his lips twitched with something that might have been amusement. He squinted at the fire, frowning. "He _did_ say elev-"

"Shh," Darian pronounced quickly, as Lucius' head appeared in the emerald flames of the fireplace.

"I got your owl," Lucius said at once, "but you'll have to make it quick, as you wouldn't believe the nightmare happening on my end—ah, hold on—"

He muttered something to someone behind him that sounded suspiciously like " _it's ecru, you imbecilic twat,"_ but Darian could not be certain, so he waited patiently for Lucius to turn back with a sigh.

"Honestly, it's like Narcissa's family is entirely made up of tasteless barbarians," Lucius muttered, looking murderous. "Not to mention I've had an easier time communicating with Russian Shamans than I've had trying to wrangle some white tulips out of Diagon Alley florists—' _out of season_ ,' they said, like we're not fucking _magical—_ "

"Tulips?" Darian repeated skeptically, and Lucius groaned.

"Do not force me to explain," he growled. "I've had an absolute _massacre_ over gardenias for the wedding already—"

"Fuck, Lucius, are you the bride or the groom?" Caleb demanded, and Darian ducked his head, fighting a laugh.

"Don't mock me, Avery, this will be you someday," Lucius warned, "and heaven help you if your future wife envisions her gardens in an _insanely_ pristine vat of white florals—"

"As informational as this is," Darian interrupted, "and truly, it is enlightening—"

"It's rubbish, but continue," Lucius confirmed.

"—I wanted to talk about Snape." Darian glanced experimentally over his shoulder; Caleb nudged him. _He's asleep_ , Caleb mouthed, _get on with it!_

"Made any headway with Severus, then?" Lucius asked, looking thoughtful. "Your message made it sound like there was something you needed."

"Well, Potter did us all a solid and was his usual cocked-off self," Darian supplied, and Lucius nodded, looking as if he understood that much _far_ too well. "Tried reconciling with Sev, from what it sounded."

"They've got a bit of an ongoing oppositional thing, don't they?" Lucius asked. "Potter and Snape?"

"You could call it that," Darian permitted.

"It would be the fucking understatement of the year, but you could certainly call it that," Caleb agreed.

"So what does that have to do with me?" Lucius pressed. "Or _you_ , for that matter."

"Well," Darian said slyly, "it seems I've been getting through to Severus after all. He told Potter he wasn't interested in settling for 'contented mediocrity'—"

"You said that?" Lucius remarked, looking impressed. "Well crafted."

"Thank you," Darian accepted grandly, "but more importantly, Severus _himself_ seems to be buying into it."

"I take it he needs a push, then," Lucius determined, pursing his lips in thought. "What were you thinking?"

"Well," Darian said, glancing at Caleb, "how badly does"—he glanced around before leaning forward—" _he_ want him?"

Lucius frowned. "What are you implying?"

"That you get him to talk to Severus in person," Darian supplied.

"What?" Lucius echoed, stunned. "That's—Darian. He's hardly got the time to round up a bunch of _teenagers—_ "

"Not a bunch, just _one_ ," Darian corrected. "A very desirable one, or so he seems to think. And didn't you say he was interested in the curse we sent you?"

"It _was_ intriguing," Lucius agreed with a nod. "The Dark Lord has been looking for new defensive curses lately; he won't say what they're for," he added, his expression slipping slightly, "but he did express some curiosity." He took a deep breath, thinking. "He is rather adamant about the situation. Severus' refusal does not sit well with him."

"Clearly not," Darian agreed. "But perhaps a conversation with him may make the difference."

"You think so?" Lucius asked dubiously. "What makes you so sure?"

"Severus has no friends besides us, and he's already lost the one person he cared about. He'll do anything to keep her safe," Darian said emphatically, "but she's no longer an obstacle. In fact," he realized, "she might still be a bargaining chip."

"But," Caleb cut in quickly, "the important thing here is that Severus is undervalued. Underappreciated."

"Yes," Darian agreed with a nod. "And highly likely to be swayed by someone who shares his particular brand of elitism."

"That is true," Lucius murmured, glancing between them. "I suppose the Dark Lord does have something to gain by meeting with him." He hummed to himself, thinking. "You two could arrange it, I presume?"

"Just say the word," Darian agreed. "The castle?"

"No, no, Dumbledore," Lucius muttered back, shaking his head. "It'll have to be the Three Broomsticks, or else the Hog's Head—"

"Hog's Head," Caleb determined. "Three Broomsticks will be packed from quidditch this weekend. Nearly guarantees the Head'll be empty."

"Yes, good," Lucius asserted with a nod. "I think I can get him there. He _is_ oddly curious—even with taking Severus' lineage into account," he added, and Darian could see Lucius was truly puzzled; he never had put much stock in half-bloods. "I don't think it will take much coaxing."

"Saturday, then?" Darian asked. "We'll get Severus to the Hog's Head, and he'll—"

"He'll be there," Lucius confirmed with a nod. "And it should be relatively— _for fuck's sake,_ " Lucius growled, looking at something behind him, "I said _ecru_ , not cream, get that out of my—no, _no_ , absolutely _not—_ "

"Bye, then," Caleb offered chipperly, and the fireplace promptly went dark, the emerald flames smoldering to dusty ash on the wood.

"Well," Caleb remarked, turning to Darian, "how should we handle this?"

"With subtlety and ease," Darian replied, "and with little to-do."

"I love how infuriating you are," Caleb returned. "But do you have any more specifics?"

"With subtlety," Darian repeated, raising his wand and offering Caleb a mischievous grin, "and _ease_ ," he added, flicking it to charm a fleck of ash to follow the path of his command.

Caleb's eyes glinted. "I _am_ handy with such things," he ventured.

"You have your uses," Darian agreed, licking his lips and smiling.

* * *

Severus blinked, finding himself seated at a table in the corner of a small, dingy room. It seemed to be little more than a filthy cellar masquerading as a pub, as the faint smell of something he suspected was goats wafted unpleasantly through his nose.

It had been one of those overly social days; students gadding about, blocking corridors and covering themselves in acrid body paint; another insufferable day of quidditch and related insipidity. Severus had been heading to the library, hadn't he? He raised a hand to his temple, trying to remember; a hand on his shoulder, Darian asking if he'd seen any of the—

 _Fucking Mulciber,_ Severus thought, the haze clearing as he realized with fury where the lapse in his memory had gone.

He stood to exit the pub, fighting a rush of something that was a meld of rage, irritation, and, strangely, a betrayal of some sort, when a tall figure in a black hooded cloak slipped into the seat across from him.

"Sorry," Severus muttered, "I was just leaving—"

"I wouldn't," the other man warned, his voice low and purposeful. He turned, gesturing to the bar and holding up a set of fingers to indicate a request for two ales.

"That's not necessary," Severus said hastily, "I'm really not one for drink—"

"Nor am I," the other man said. "Appearances, though." He shrugged. "You understand."

"I would imagine if you're trying to keep up appearances, the hood doesn't particularly help," Severus pointed out, too miffed from Darian's fucking _nerve_ to spend much time on tact, and the other man seemed to chuckle, reaching up to slip the hood from his head.

"You might be right," his unexpected companion agreed, the removal of the garment revealing a markedly handsome older man, dark-haired and perhaps in his fifties, though far better preserved than any of his age Severus had ever seen. Not that Tobias Snape was much to compare to, considering.

"That's not a phrase I say often, by the way," the man said, and Severus could see from his hardened gaze that he was likely not exaggerating. "So you're off to a magnificent start."

Severus frowned, putting pieces together; Darian's _Imperius_ , the man's hooded entrance, his particular regality of speech—

"I get the feeling I'm supposed to be impressing you," Severus ventured, suffering a lurch at who his visitor might be. "But I don't know that you'll want to wait around for that."

"Not much waiting involved," the man replied, leaning back in his chair as the bearded bar patron set two ales down in front of them. "Tell me," he added, carefully fingering the handle of the tankard, "if you were to write a curse without a countercurse, how would you do it?"

Severus gaped at him, at the casual way in which he—a _stranger_ —spoke aloud something that would have hushed a room, and then he hastily swallowed, trying gracelessly to recover.

"Subtle," Severus remarked unsteadily; not an answer.

"I'm afraid I lack the luxury of time," the other man replied. "Makes me a bit more direct than some people appreciate."

"Some people?" Severus echoed.

The man shrugged. "Lesser people."

"Ah," Severus said, feeling an odd stirring at the flippancy of the remark. "I see."

"A curse to infect the heart," the man prompted, returning to the eerily familiar subject. "If one only alters the minutiae of the incantation—"

Severus grimaced, recognizing the sound of his own notes and resolving to hex Darian immediately upon return. "Listen," Severus said, leaning forward to push his chair back, "I don't know what this is, but I really don't care to—"

"People say there is light and dark to be had within magic," the other man remarked. "Foolish, don't you think?"

Severus paused. "What?"

"The idea that there's polarity, somehow, in magic," the man said. "That some magic is inherently dangerous." He tapped his long fingers against the lip of his glass. "Isn't it strange what limits some people will place upon themselves?"

Severus paused.

"I don't know that I'm qualified to comment," he said carefully, and the other man scoffed.

"Either you are extraordinary, or you are not," he countered. "Either you wish to be great, or you do not. And it's funny, isn't it," the other man commented, "how both—and how such remarkable capabilities—can birth themselves from a muggle father."

Severus stiffened. "What do you know about muggle fathers?"

"More than I wish to," the other man said, a strikingly violent spasm of rage suddenly glinting in his eye before fading just as quickly as it arrived, cooling against his more impassive expression. "Luckily," he continued slowly, "I find they have a certain fragile mortality to them."

"Muggles," Severus said carefully, "or fathers?"

The other man smiled. "Does it matter?"

Severus' stomach lurched.

"You say that like someone who isn't peskily fated for death," he commented warily, wondering if the other man would show his cards.

"Perhaps I do," the man allowed. "Would such a thing intrigue you?"

"Evading death?" Severus asked coldly. "And here I thought you pursued it."

"An inelegant conclusion, Severus," the man determined, giving a single shake of his head in what appeared to be an artful display of disappointment.

"Am I to call you Lord?" Severus asked.

Lord Voldemort smiled. "Only if you wish it."

Severus said nothing, and Voldemort tapped his glass again.

"You think me a violent man, Severus?"

"I think violence follows you," Severus replied. "I think you stand to harm—"

He broke off. Voldemort eyed him carefully.

"I certainly stand to harm those who oppose my beliefs," Voldemort permitted. "But I find myself hard pressed to consider that you and I wouldn't share similar minds."

"I don't think we do," Severus began stubbornly, but the Dark Lord cut him off, raising a hand.

"You speak, of course, of my political following," Voldemort said, as though this were something to carelessly brush away. "The beliefs of those who find themselves attracted to my cause."

"Is there a distinction between them and you?" Severus asked, feeling bold—perhaps unwisely so, as Voldemort's eyes flickered with irritation at the question.

"There is a distinction between me and everyone," he snapped, but then, again, he cooled, appraising Severus carefully. "But the important thing is what you and I _share_. An appreciation for magic in all its forms," he explained. "A wish to pursue it as an art. As a thing to be perfected. A craft to be honed."

Severus opened his mouth to argue, but found he lacked ammunition.

"Even if I agreed with you," he began tentatively, "I—"

"You _do_ agree with me," Voldemort confirmed. "I've seen enough of your work to know you walk a hazy line of what society deems acceptable for use. It's frustrating, isn't it?" he murmured. "The inability others possess to see that there is no light or dark, but simply power to be grasped?"

Severus shifted in his seat. "Dangerous words," he muttered, glancing around.

"Why?" Voldemort demanded. "Why should any words be dangerous? Because public morality demands a certain attitude? Because _decency_ requires it?"

Severus felt a tug at the words, a reluctant agreement, but said nothing.

"A group of lesser-minded wizards insisted on a set of restricting laws that you are expected to follow," Voldemort said, his voice brittle with loathing. "Who benefits from that, Severus? Not you," he determined. "Not I."

Severus found he lacked any argument; disappointingly, he had not found one yet.

"What interest do you have in me?" Severus asked, veering away from the topic. "You clearly know the value of my blood. I'm no Lucius Malfoy," he added, tasting the resentment at the back of his throat.

To his displeasure, the other man smiled. "Lucius does have a certain conventional appeal," Voldemort acknowledged, "but not everything I require demands a pretty face and a Gringotts vault."

Despite his wish to the contrary, a roaring piece of Severus was soothed.

"Still," Severus pressed. "What do you want with me?"

"I want the curse you developed," Voldemort returned bluntly. "And more in the future. I want the aid of your intellect. I will require your loyalty," he clarified, scanning Severus closely, "but in return, I will give you what you deserve."

"Which is?" Severus asked, his mouth suddenly quite dry.

"Free rein," Voldemort offered simply, shrugging. "You will not learn the intricacies of magic under the leash of Albus Dumbledore," he asserted with a sneer, resentment evident on his face. "Hogwarts will not have taught you anything other than what you require to be a tool of the Ministry. But I can show you the beauty of a spell," the Dark Lord offered, his tone taking on a silky form of reverence. "I can promise you an informed devotion to what moves us, you and I. Not this tables-into-teacups nonsense," he added sharply, his face contorting in a grimace. "No, Severus—I can show you how to produce magic that unfurls from your soul. Magic that comes from humanity—from blood. From mortality."

Severus shivered.

"Immortality," Voldemort murmured, "comes from sacrifice. I can show you," he offered, his voice a slithering whisper. "You can sever a vein with a flick of your wand, Severus; you can poison a heart with an incantation. Such power is not meant to be squandered."

Severus only realized he had been holding his breath when he choked out a response. "I—I don't think that—"

"I'm many things, Severus," Voldemort cut in, the entrancement suddenly lifting. "A patient man, certainly. But most importantly, I am a man who obtains the things I want. I only wish," he added slowly, "that you would come to realize that what I want does not have to oppose the things you desire for yourself."

"You don't seem like a man who does much wishing," Severus offered warily.

"I find that when one is persuasive enough, a wish is merely decorative," Voldemort said with a shrug. "But in the meantime, I'm willing to indulge."

There was a knowing glimmer in his eye, and Severus felt a twist of anguish in his stomach.

"You say that like you know you have me," Severus said. "I don't care for it."

"I wouldn't want you if you did," Voldemort agreed. "But don't let what I know concern you. Take your time, Severus," the Dark Lord beckoned, lifting the hood back over his head. "In the end, I suspect we will both be gratified with your choice."

 _No,_ Severus thought, _no, no, no—_

"I haven't agreed to anything," he insisted, forcing himself to be firm. "Whatever you think you've accomplished, you haven't."

"Perhaps not," Voldemort permitted, standing and pausing before dropping a handful of coins onto the table. "The most worthy battles are the hardest won," he added. "But in the end, mine are always won."

It certainly seemed that way.

"I'm being outwitted, aren't I?" Severus asked, looking up at him.

"You're young still," Voldemort replied, unfazed. "You'll learn. Not here," he added, gesturing towards the castle with a darkened smirk. "But I expect you've sorted that out by now."

He scuffed his foot against the floor, which had initially appeared like densely packed earth, but which Severus could now see was merely filth-covered stone.

"A better venue next time," Voldemort murmured, dusting off his robes with a grimace. "I'll have to have a chat with Lucius." He glanced up, giving Severus a final scrutinizing glance. "Until next time," he said coolly, and then, in less than a breath, he was gone.


	21. The Son

**Chapter 21: The Son**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: perhaps instead, count your blessings? Words: edged like blades. Actions: all that matters. Political climate: what can you speak if you no longer own your voice?_

* * *

"You're looking better," Remus remarked as James sat down beside him.

"Yes, look at all the color in his cheeks," Sirius agreed, reaching across the table to give them a cheerful pat. James swatted his hand away, making a face.

"Yes, yes, I'm very handsome, sit down," James muttered, shooing Sirius away and pouring himself some coffee. "And yes, I _am_ feeling better. Keeping busy," he explained neutrally, and Remus arched a brow.

"Busy?" he echoed, more suspicious than curious.

"Yes, busy," James confirmed shortly, reaching over him for a bit of toast. "I've been meaning to ask you, Moony, have you filled out your registration form yet?"

At that, Remus deflated. "No," he admitted, his voice sounding hollow and pained. "I think I'm having trouble facing the concept of it."

"Well, good," James determined, taking a large bite of toast. "Asyoulfhaftocmcomlivwifme."

"What?" Sirius repeated, and James swallowed.

"As you'll have to come live with me," James repeated, slower.

"Prongs," Remus sighed, "we've talked about this—"

"No, no, I know," James interrupted, waving his protest away. "But I've decided I'm going to sell the house—"

"The house?" Remus echoed. "Your parents' house? But it's been in your family for centuries!"

"Yes, but I am only one small person," James reminded him.

"With an enormous ego, of course, but still," Sirius agreed, "he could stand to lose a bedroom here and there."

"Skating over the many ways in which you cause me unmerited injury," James continued loudly, "as I was saying—I'm selling the house, which means I'll have to figure out what I'm going to do with Paul, not to mention all the heirlooms and whatnot—"

"Many heirlooms," Sirius agreed. " _Much_ whatnot."

"So I'll need you to move in with me after graduation and help me out for a few months," James concluded. "Has absolutely nothing to do with charity, Moony," he added, pointedly smearing some butter on his toast.

"No, I suppose not," Remus permitted, looking down with a faint smile; James winked victoriously at Sirius, who gave him an approving nod. _Mischief managed,_ he mouthed, and James smiled.

"I'm thinking of asking Evans to move in as well," James added casually. "She's not sure what she's doing after the year ends, but I have to guess she might run into, er," he paused, " _problems,_ one might say, trying to go the traditional job-getting route."

"There's talk of a muggleborn registry now," Remus supplied, nodding slowly. "Since apparently the other registries are bringing people such unmitigated joy," he muttered under his breath, and Sirius reached out, running a thumb comfortingly across his knuckles.

"Yes, and that's just within the Ministry," James pointed out. "With other forces at play, I'm not sure what kind of world is going to be out there for her when we leave here."

"Well, it's certainly kind of you to think of her situation," Remus agreed. "What does she think about it?"

James glanced down. "Oh," he said carefully, taking another large bite of toast. "Ihambenasstkeryengt."

"What?" Remus asked, but Sirius raised a hand.

"I know this one," he said, smirking. "Prongs hasn't asked her yet."

"Prongs!" Remus exclaimed. "You can't run around making plans _for_ her—"

James swallowed sheepishly. "I'm not!" he insisted. "I'm _going_ to ask her, I just haven't found the right way to broach the situation yet."

"Are you still trying to keep things quiet between you?" Remus asked.

"Not when I'm around, they're not," Sirius muttered, and James kicked him under the table.

"She wanted to talk to Snape about it first," James explained, shaking his head warningly at Sirius before turning back to Remus. "She's talking to him this afternoon."

"That's fair," Remus permitted. "Does she know about your conversation with him?"

James froze. "Um."

Sirius opened his mouth, but Remus stopped him.

"Even _I_ can translate that as a no," Remus sighed. " _Prong_ s—"

"What?" James demanded, folding his arms over his chest. "It slipped my mind, okay?"

"You can't let Lily talk to him without telling her _you_ talked to him first," Remus admonished him, looking especially professorial and smug. "She's not going to be thrilled about how you handled it."

"Yes, my vote is for 'less than thrilled' as well," Sirius agreed. "You've got to tell Lils what happened before she—"

"Tell me what before I _what_?" Lily prompted, sitting down next to Sirius and looking expectantly between the three of them. "Oh no." She fixed her lovely and conspicuously narrowed green eyes on James, sighing. "What've you done now, Potter?"

"Nothing!" James insisted, but at the three sets of dubious glances, he conceded. "Fine," he said. "I did a very small, _nearly insignificant_ something."

Lily pursed her lips, waiting.

"Annnd we're out," Remus declared, tapping Sirius on the wrist and gesturing. "See you in class, James."

"You're both very loyal," James called after him. "Thank you _so much_ for your unwavering support!"

Sirius, for his part, smacked a loud kiss atop Lily's head before smirking gleefully at James, turning away with a silent, obnoxious wave that made James very much want to throw something at him.

"What have you done, Potter?" Lily asked once they'd disappeared, staring intently at him.

He cleared his throat. "Just—bear in mind," he began unsteadily, "I really, _honestly_ thought I was doing a good thing."

She sighed.

"It's a testament to how much you've grown on me that I'm willing to admit that's probably true," she permitted slowly. "But on the other hand, I'm _also_ nearly positive it was something stupid."

"Oh, it was," James agreed. "Very."

"Great," she said. "Go on."

"I… tried to talk to Snape," James confessed guiltily, and at the disbelieving widening of her eyes, he carried on frantically. "I really wasn't looking for a fight," he insisted. "I was just—I just wanted to offer him—" He squirmed, frustrated. "I don't know—I wasn't thinking—"

Lily, mercifully, raised a hand. "Stop, Potter," she sighed, and he felt his stomach flip.

"Okay," he mumbled, ducking his head and awaiting reproach; she was silent for a moment and he snuck a curious glance at her, watching her gather her thoughts.

"Look," she said eventually, "I don't need to know what happened."

He jerked his head up in confusion. "You don't?"

"No. I mean, I can tell it was bad," she asserted, giving him a small, disapproving head shake. "He hates you, Potter, so it was never going to go _well_ —and you'd have reacted badly too, if the tables were turned."

He scowled. "That's not tr- "

She raised one brow.

"Fine," he sighed. "You're probably right."

"I know I'm right," she assured him. "And I do wish you had _asked_ me before doing that—"

"But it wasn't about _you_ , really," James protested. "It was between _us_. I wanted to give him a chance to be a part of whatever we're putting together," he added, gesturing to the seats where Remus and Sirius had been. "I know you care about him, and I just wanted to—to give him somewhere to go, if he needed it, or if he—"

"James," she said gently, taking one of his feverishly gesturing hands, "stop."

He quieted, looking down at her fingers.

"I'm glad you told me, okay?" she said. "Really, I am. I want you to be able to tell me these things." She paused, cracking a smile. "Largely because I have a feeling you're going to fuck up a lot over the course of us being together."

"How dare you," he murmured, but his heart wasn't in it.

"It's just that whatever's going on with Severus is a lot bigger than just one conversation," she told him carefully. "And as good as your intentions might have been, you're really _never_ going to be the person he wants to hear from."

"I get that now," James agreed reluctantly, glancing up at her. "Really. I only wanted to help, I was just trying to—"

"I know," she assured him. "I know, and it's infuriating, really, because it makes me like you more, even though you're a complete idiot."

He was relieved, but tried not to look _quite_ as slavishly grateful as he felt.

"That's some very disparaging language, Evans, really," James sniffed. "At least give me my proper due, would you?"

"Head Idiot?" she amended.

"Better," he said approvingly. "I accept."

"You're impossible," she sighed, but a smile had crept over her face. He swelled with affection, squeezing the tips of her fingers.

"I'd better go," he said, checking his watch as he remembered his morning schedule. "Peter's got my notes, so—"

"Off you go, then," she determined, nudging his hand and shifting her attention down the table, seeking to procure a cup of coffee for herself. "I'll see you later."

"You're talking to Snape this afternoon, right?" he asked, and she looked up as he stood, frowning.

"Yes," she remarked expectantly, with an air of caution, like she was waiting for something to drop. "Why?"

James shrugged. "Nothing, really," he said. "Just—looking forward to when I can kiss you goodbye, that's all."

For a moment, she simply stared at him.

Then it happened very quickly, several things at once: first her eyes widened, then her expression faltered, and then she suddenly stood, surprising him as she brushed her lips against his with a brisk, focused deliberation.

"Bye, James," she chirped, and then promptly fell back to her seat, stealing his abandoned mug and ducking her head to hide a smile.

He turned, sparing them both the embarrassment of the syrupy grin he was sure had plastered itself across his face, and quickly exited the hall, heading for the Gryffindor common room.

"Hey, Wormy," James called, catching sight of him as he climbed out of the portrait. "Got my notes?"

"Yeah, they're here," Peter said, raising a hand to reference them. "Thanks, Prongs."

"Sure," James agreed, tucking the parchment in his bag and turning to head for the classroom.

"Hey," Peter ventured slowly, and with what James considered to be marked premeditation, "did you by any chance tell Frank Longbottom that you were starting some kind of militant anti-You-Know-Who task force?"

"Oh, that's a little dramatic, Wormy, but yes, essentially," James confirmed with a nod. "And the Prewetts, too," he added, remembering. "I thought they'd be useful."

"You hadn't mentioned it to me," Peter ventured carefully, and James frowned.

"Sure I have," he said, trying to think. "The guerilla warfare thing, remember? I'm positive I've mentioned it—"

"Well, you've called it that," Peter agreed, "but you haven't actually asked me if I want to be part of it."

James paused mid-stride, turning to look at him. "I just assumed you'd want in, Wormy," he said, wondering why Peter wasn't making eye contact with him. "I sort of already thought you were involved."

"You assumed I'd want to be unemployed?" Peter asked. "You never thought to check if maybe I had other plans?"

"Not unemployed," James corrected playfully, " _independently wealthy_. And anyway, you'd never mentioned having anything specific in mind after graduation, so I just thought—"

"You thought what, Prongs?" Peter asked, glancing up to give him a startlingly Remus-like look of disapproval. "That you didn't _need_ to ask me? That I'd just be involved because I do everything you do?"

James paused, trying his damndest not to make his usual mess of the situation.

"Are you mad at me, Wormy?" he asked slowly.

Peter, to his great relief, softened. "No, Prongs, I'm not," he sighed. "I just—I just thought you might have asked me, that's all."

"Fair," James determined with a nod. "Well, then I guess I should ask you if you're headed back home this summer, too. I've asked Moony to come stay with Pads and me while I pack up the house." He paused. "And Evans, too—well," he conceded, "I haven't actually asked her _yet_ , but I'm planning on it, so—"

"You're going to live with Moony, Padfoot, and Lily?" Peter interrupted, his brow furrowing. "She's—you think she'll want to live with you?"

"Well yes, sure, why not," James said with a shrug. "Oh, and there's room for you too, of course, if you want in," he added offhandedly, thinking that much was obvious. "Plenty of things to de-gnome in the attic, I'm sure—"

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "Yeah, maybe, but—"

He trailed off.

"But?" James prompted, nudging him.

"Dunno," Peter said. "Kinda sounds like five's a crowd, don't you think?"

"That's not true," James argued. "You know I don't think that, Wormtail."

"I know you don't, Prongs," Peter replied, offering him a hesitant smile. "I know you don't."

James, who didn't quite know what to make of the conversation, instead turned his attention to his own shoes as they walked the familiar path to Transfiguration, his mind wandering aimlessly until it arrived— _gloriously_ —at the recollection that Lily had kissed him in the Great Hall. By then, he scarcely noticed Peter's unusually sulky demeanor, as he had forgotten almost immediately that anything but Lily Evans even existed.

* * *

"Hey," Lily said, shielding her eyes from the sun. "Thanks for meeting me."

Severus grimaced at that. "As if I wouldn't come, Lily," he said, and she swallowed, feeling awkward and somehow wildly inappropriate. She pulled all her limbs together, trying to shrink.

"Right," she said softly. "Sorry."

He sighed, sitting down beside her.

"No, _I'm_ sorry," he said. "I'm being difficult."

"No, no, it's fine," she protested meekly, but felt immediately that she was being ridiculous; they looked at each other, each scrutinizing the other.

 _It's weird,_ she told him with a little twist of her mouth.

He glanced down. _I know._

"So," she attempted brightly, "how are things?"

"Oh, delightful," he replied, his voice low and clipped. His gaze skidded sullenly over the distance between them. "It's been a thoroughly enjoyable year so far."

"Severus," she sighed, and he frowned.

"I'm sorry," he said again, reaching up to rub exhaustion from his eyelids. He didn't look well, she realized; he looked thinner, and there was a new weariness to him, one that made her question how responsible she was for the change.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I never thought this would be easy."

She had meant to make him feel comfortable; instead, his expression hardened.

"You'll be relieved to know that Potter's already said it all, then," he informed her, and she swallowed uncomfortably, wondering now if she had been wrong not to ask for the details of their conversation. "Maybe that will make it easier for you."

She had worried he would be the last to know, but it had never occurred to her that perhaps he'd already seen through her.

"Sev," she pleaded, "please don't do this—"

"Don't do what?" he asked sharply. "Do you want me to tell you I'm happy for you, Lily? Is that why you asked me to come here?"

"Sev, I know this isn't… ideal," she admitted hesitantly, "and I know you must be angry—"

"Angry?" he asked, his face twisting in agony. "You think I'm _angry_?"

"Well," she amended, cringing, "I don't know how you feel, of course, but I just wanted to try to—"

"Lily," he said, and he was wretched and broken as he faced her. "I lost you and I was devastated. And then you—and now I'm—"

He broke off, shutting his eyes. "It had to be _him_ ," he whispered, and Lily felt her heart splinter for him.

"It wasn't—I wasn't _trying_ to—"

"I want you to be happy," Severus cut in bluntly, looking up to meet her eye. "I do, I _really_ do, and I understand that maybe a piece of you needs closure so that you can move on from this, but I can't do it." He shook his head. "I can't hear you say you've chosen him, Lily, I can't."

He rose to his feet and she reached up, taking hold of his wrist to stop him. "Sev, please—"

"I love you, Lily Evans, and I will love you for the rest of my life," he promised her, and he looked as though if he had only ever known one truth, that would have been the one. "Someday, maybe, I might be able to look at you and see you happy with him and know it was the right thing, but not today." He wrenched his hand from her grip. "Not today, Lily—"

"I need to talk to you," she said desperately, struggling to her feet to follow him. "This isn't just about James—"

She stopped. His name had slipped out and Severus froze, his shoulders tensing.

"It's not just about him," she rushed out frantically, "it's about _you_ , Sev—I'm worried about you—"

"Don't worry, Potter covered that bit with me as well," Severus said coolly, not turning around. He reached up, running a hand through his hair and turning his face towards the sky, his eyes closed. "You don't need to worry about me, Lily," he told her, and her eyes burned, full of hard-fought tears. "That's not your job anymore."

"Severus," she said, her voice wobbling as she spoke his name, "I know how amazing you are—I _know_ things could be better for you if you would only—"

"Only what?" he asked, finally turning to face her; his voice was thick with misery and his face was haunted with pain. "Only spend my life trying to prove to James Potter that I'm not worthless?"

"You're not worthless," she protested, reaching forward to rest her hands on his chest, a motion that was as much to steady herself as it was to reassure him, to force her intent to bleed through to his. "You're _not_ worthless, Severus, I know you're not—"

"I'm never going to fit into your life, Lily," he told her quietly. "I never did before, and that's not going to change now." He swallowed, and she saw the sadness etched into the lines of his face. " _Especially_ not now."

"I just want you to be happy," she insisted, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "Sev, I swear, I only want you to be _happy_ —"

He gently pushed her away, taking hold of her shoulders and nudging her two steps back before releasing her.

"It's not your job to teach me how anymore," he told her, and then he turned, starting to walk away.

"Sev," she begged, thinking of all the things she'd wanted to say. He'd been right, she'd come there for closure; she wanted to tell him about James, about the things she could see now, the way he'd proven himself to her. She wanted to tell him she had found someone, and that he would, too—that there was someone out there, that there was something better for _both_ of them—that she loved him, still, would love him _always_ , just not the way he wanted—

She hated herself, watching him leave. Had she been foolish enough— _cruel_ enough—to think she would receive his blessing?

"Sev," she called weakly, " _please_ —"

But he kept walking, and like she'd once done to him, he didn't turn back.

* * *

"Mulciber."

Darian turned, sickened by the sound of the voice he wished he hadn't learned to recognize.

"Get the fuck away from me, Pettigrew," he growled, turning to face him. "I'm tired of giving you the same fucking warning—"

"The favor I asked for," Peter continued, unfazed. _How pathetic,_ Darian thought, _that he would be so unilaterally ignored by his friends that no level of rejection bothers him anymore._ "The one you owe me—"

"I haven't forgotten," Darian interrupted, teeth clenched.

"—I want it," Peter said. "I'm calling it in."

Darian yanked him into an alcove, muttering a _Muffliato_ before rounding on the shorter boy, whose face bore traces of an irritating stubbornness that, on a less irksome day, Darian might have felt compelled to slap.

"Do not mistake this for me giving a single fuck as to the state of your life or well being," Darian broached carefully, "but unless you've made a decision on where the fuck you actually _stand_ —"

"James being with Lily is changing things," Peter cut in gruffly. "They don't need me anymore."

"Fine, then let me have Evans," Darian resolved, shrugging, though he'd built such a careful mental wall around her that the prospect now seemed somehow implausible. "And then you can get back to your—"

"No. This isn't Lily's doing," Peter insisted, and for some reason that Darian didn't quite understand, he was relieved.

"What is it you want, then?" Darian demanded.

"I heard you were recruiting Snape," Peter supplied.

"And?" Darian asked, exasperated. "What, _you_ want to recruit Snape?"

"No, you fucking—" Peter scowled. "I want you to recruit _me_."

"What?" Darian stared at him. "Why?"

"I can give you more than Snape can, for one thing," Peter sniffed, full of Sirius Black's irritating superiority.

Darian made a face. "What makes you think you can even _match_ Severus?"

At that, Peter seemed to take great offense. "I'm just as good a wizard as he is," he insisted, drawing himself up to his full (underwhelming) height.

"Doubtful," Darian muttered, but Peter seemed to have foreseen this reaction.

"I can give you things that he can't," Peter added, lowering his voice. "For example, I can tell you that James Potter is currently putting together a group of people to stand against You-Know-Who."

"So?" Darian sniffed. "It's Potter. Spoiler: 'Gryffindor arsehole aims to be a fucking hero, dies trying' isn't much of a plot twist—"

"It's backed by _Dumbledore_ ," Peter said knowingly, and at that Darian frowned, thinking back to Lucius' hesitation about bringing the Dark Lord to Hogwarts— _no, no, Dumbledore,_ he'd said anxiously; hastily, as if the aging headmaster's presence were something of valid concern—

"Everyone knows Dumbledore's the only wizard You-Know-Who was ever afraid of," Peter reminded him. "He defeated Grindelwald, and if anyone is going to be a threat to You-Know-Who—"

"It certainly won't be James Potter," Darian determined with a scowl. "You really think _this_ is a threat with any credence? That I could bring this to the Dark Lord and he wouldn't laugh in my fucking _face_?"

"James may be the boots on the ground, but it's _Dumbledore_ at the helm," Peter said knowingly, his eyes glinting. "Are you really telling me that wouldn't worry him?"

Darian paused, never one for a quick surrender.

"What's your offer, then?" he finally determined, narrowing his eyes.

"I want you to vouch for me," Peter supplied stiffly. "I want you to make _certain_ there is room for me in his ranks, and I want his ear."

It took all Darian possessed not to laugh. "What makes you think I even have that kind of influence?" he scoffed.

"Let me put it this way—I want to know I'm taken care of," Peter informed him briskly. "And I know that whatever I want, you'll be the one to make certain I'm happy, because _you_ stand to lose if I'm not." His eyes glinted in the shadow of the alcove. "Unless you want everyone to know how you like your dick sucked, or by whom."

There was a breath of pause, and then Darian's infallible patience finally failed him.

The rage that he might have channeled into gritted teeth or clenched fists expelled itself somehow in a moment of abandon and he lunged forward, shoving Peter against the wall and pinning his neck with his forearm in one fluid motion. He stood there—watching Peter Pettigrew's beady eyes widen, shoved back and upwards by Darian's arm—and was permitted a brief moment of gratification; but then, to Darian's horror, Peter did not resist, managing to emit a sputtering laugh.

"Starting to crack, are you?" Peter asked, choking a little where Darian's arm was pressed against his throat.

"This is my _life_ ," Darian growled, sweat beading from his forehead as he fervently thought the words _Avada Kedavra,_ remembered the feel of them on his tongue—so satisfying, so sweet, and with the lingering aftertaste of Caleb that was so fucking inseparable in his memory. "This is my fucking life, rat, and you have _no idea_ what you're toying with—"

"Would he kill you, do you think?" Peter pressed hoarsely, a sickening show of amusement spreading across his face. "You and Avery?"

Darian thought of blood, then, and bone; he thought of Caleb's eyes, and the way they reminded him of both. _This isn't a game, rat—_

"Yes, he fucking would," Darian snarled. "And that's the master you're choosing, you pathetic little shit." He grabbed Peter's collar and threw him on the ground, pressing his foot to Peter's larynx and feeling a rush of pleasure as the face below him turned scarlet from effort.

He ground his foot down and Peter let out a strangled gurgle.

 _You only play at fighting with the big dogs, don't you?_

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Darian asked, suddenly pulling his wand from his pocket and dropping to press it to Peter's temple. "This is the life you're choosing," Darian whispered, kneeling beside him and practically salivating at the way Peter shut his eyes, fighting a whimper. "He'll torture you for the smallest mistake. He'll kill you for even the slightest error. And if he doesn't—" he twisted his wand, digging it deeper into the side of Peter's face, "I swear to you, _I_ will."

Peter shook, saying nothing.

"You think it's easier with a Mark," Darian murmured. "You have no idea."

"Better than being a sitting duck," Peter sputtered bitterly, twisting in Darian's grasp. "Better to take my fate into my own hands than to sit back and wait until he comes for James and the others—"

"You'd live with that on your hands?" Darian demanded, the tip of his wand sparking as it pressed against Peter's skull. "You don't know what he'll ask of you—what he'll _take from you—_ "

Darian clenched his fist around his wand, thinking of the line of Caleb's spine, the vulnerability under his fingers, the path he took to bury himself deeper and deeper every time to what _he knew_ could only be his undoing—

"I'll figure that out when I get there," Peter insisted stubbornly, flinching at the wand's pressure. "I always do."

 _I could kill him_ , Darian thought, _I could kill him, and I'd be doing the world a favor._

For a moment Darian felt sorry for them, for James Potter and Sirius Black, and for the way they'd chosen so poorly in the friend they thought they had; but then, an instant later, he felt himself flooded with scorn, for the way they'd so foolishly handed Peter Pettigrew the tools to turn on them.

Darian released Peter and stood, suddenly feeling revulsion in the pit of his stomach.

"I see why you rely so heavily on blackmail," he remarked shakily, taking two unsteady steps back. "You certainly can't traffic on the strength of your word."

Peter, seeing his retreat, struggled to sit up, reaching a hand up to rub his throat. "We're all just trying to fucking survive, Mulciber," he said hoarsely, and then there was an exhaustion to both of them, a weariness, and Darian sank to the floor, resting his head against the cold stone wall. "We're all just trying to get out alive."

 _I have to respect Potter,_ Caleb had said. _I don't enjoy it, but I do._

 _I know the feeling,_ Darian muttered, repelled at the thought, but offering his grudging agreement. _He knows where he stands._

 _Do we?_ Caleb asked, turning to face him, the sheet pulled low over his bare hip. _Do we know where we stand?_

 _We're our fathers' sons,_ Darian said, _and Death Eaters, in that order. Everything else is trivial._

 _Everything else?_ Caleb ventured, reaching out to dig his fingers possessively into Darian's hip.

 _Only three things matter to me in the end,_ Darian said, closing his eyes. _My name, my blood, and my word._

Caleb moved towards him on the bed, drawing blood when he kissed him.

 _Four things,_ Caleb muttered against his mouth, and Darian sighed.

 _Four things,_ he agreed.

Darian shook his head, staring at Peter.

"No," he decided firmly, and Peter looked up, startled. "You won't get any sympathy from me."

Darian struggled to his feet, pointing his wand at Pettigrew one last time. "I may not be much of a hero, but I've got a fucking moral code," he said, "and you're a traitor." He spat at Peter's feet. "You won't get anything more from me than what I'm obligated."

"I never asked for more," Peter reminded him, looking dispassionately at the tip of Darian's wand. "I don't want anything from you except what I need to survive."

Darian's mouth twitched at that, at the look on Pettigrew's face, realizing that no person alive had ever disgusted him more.

"I hope someone kills you," Darian determined, lowering his wand. "Someday, and soon, I fucking hope _someone_ does."

Peter only smiled.

"I sleep well at night knowing it won't be you," he said, and Darian walked away in silence, wondering how many people the rat would destroy before he finally got what was coming to him.

* * *

Severus had never been one to channel his anger into violence but when, by chance, the first face he happened to see upon re-entering the castle belonged to Darian Mulciber, he swiftly considered putting a fist directly into his jaw.

"Severus," Darian said, offering him a vacant nod, and Severus raised his wand, aiming it at Darian's forehead.

"This is your fault," he spat, and Darian looked up, eyeing the wand between his eyes.

"This is new and interesting," Darian muttered. "I might have preferred to deal with this on another day, but—"

"You fucking ruined my life," Severus said, hearing his voice crack with torment and deciding he didn't care. "Because of you I've lost _everything_ —"

"Put that down," Darian said gruffly, reaching up to knock Severus' wand away. Severus wilted, letting his arm drop. "Fucking _come here_ —"

Darian dragged Severus into an empty classroom, letting the door fall shut behind him and casting a _Muffliato_ around the frame.

"Say it again," Darian invited, moving to stand in front of Severus.

"It's your fault," Severus repeated robotically. "This is your fault."

"It's not," Darian replied crisply, "but if you want to get a shot in, then fine." He picked up Severus' hand, aiming the wand at his chest. "Here," he offered, his dark eyes glinting with something manic and indefinable. "Go ahead. I understand. It's shitty, isn't it?"

Severus said nothing, his eyes never leaving the imprint the tip of his wand made against Darian's chest.

"It's sickening, isn't it," Darian remarked. "The things we do. The things we _have_ to do. What happens to us," he added, "because we are who we are, and we love who we love."

Severus twisted the wand, staring at it.

"I am my father's son," Darian said, his voice unsettlingly even. "I was born to fill a role and I filled it. I was told to recruit you," he continued, "and I did it. Because I am a Mulciber, and for now, this is the job I was born to do. This is the promise I made, and I am no son of my father's without the value of my promises."

There was a pause. Neither moved.

"You think it was my fault, and I don't blame you," Darian continued, his voice low. "But someday you'll realize that it was your defiance that was your downfall. You gave him a refusal he couldn't accept, and she'll be in danger as long as you fight it."

 _No,_ Severus thought, _no, no, no—_

"This is how it ends," Darian added, gesturing to his chest. "This is what it looks like. You think you're being strong, you think you're being loyal to her by not giving in, but all I'd have to do is tell the Dark Lord that a mudblood was a problem and then, like _magic_ —" he waved a hand carelessly—"she wouldn't be a problem anymore. So either you kill me now," he said carefully, "and you put an end to the promise I made, or you'll have to protect her from afar for the rest of her _fucking life_."

 _No, no, no—_

"Poor you, Severus," Darian whispered. "Poor, poor you, not getting the one you want. Poor you, being so desired for your skill, for your _mind_ , that the man I was _born_ to serve—whose service was never a choice for me at all—barely deigns to speak to me, while he bends heaven and earth for your loyalty. How tragic," he drawled, a low, purring laugh roaring to life in his chest. "How _fucking_ tragic your life is, Severus Snape—"

And then the laugh devolved somehow, and it became a choked, rasping sob of a gasp, and Severus lowered his wand to sink back against the desk behind him, suddenly bereft of the will to stand.

They sat in silence for several minutes before either of them moved; Severus shifted sideways and the desk creaked beneath him, serving to bring them back to life.

"This is it," Severus acknowledged. "This is my life."

"Yeah," Darian said, staring straight ahead. "I know what you mean."

"She's with Potter," Severus said. "I can't get her back. I can't be with her." He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "And I can't keep her safe if I keep refusing."

They heard a flap of an owl's wing outside the window; distant clatter from the corridor.

"Yes," Darian said eventually, nodding. "All of that is true."

Severus let out a breathy, humorless laugh. "That's it," he said, turning to face Darian. "That's how this ends?"

Darian paused, considering his answer.

"You don't get Evans," he permitted slowly. "She's not for you. But that's not the end."

Severus scoffed his disagreement. "It's not?"

"No," Darian said, shaking his head. "You can take the Mark like someone who's been beaten, and you can come crawling on your knees— _or_ ," he began, then sighed. "Or you can make the choice."

"What's the difference?" Severus asked dubiously. "In the end, what difference does it make?"

"The man you choose to be lives in the difference," Darian told him, fixing him with his dark, unsettling stare. "The difference is the only thing you have left that matters."

The words sank in, settling heavily over them.

"What about you, then?" Severus asked, watching something flicker in Darian's face. "Who is the man you choose to be?"

Darian's lips curled up in a mirthless smile. "Only three things matter," he said, shutting his eyes as if the statement had pained him. "My name, my blood, and my word." His smile faded, then, and his eyes fluttered open. "I'm my father's son, and that's the man I choose to be."

Silence swelled between them; Severus shifted again, leaning back against his elbows.

"Sometimes I think I want to kill my father," Severus remarked offhandedly, thinking of Tobias Snape's fragile mortality.

Darian's mouth tightened to a grim, steady line. "Me too."

They exchanged glances, and the moment passed.

Severus let his mind wander, then, thinking of Lily. Maybe he should have apologized to her, for this, for whatever was coming; maybe he'd already known then what he would have to do, and he just didn't want to admit it.

He thought of the sadness in her green eyes and felt a strum of remorse, wishing he'd been softer with her; sweeter, maybe, if he'd known how. Perhaps it spoke volumes about the kind of person he was that he couldn't even give her the small satisfaction of his approval.

Would his pride truly have suffered, just for giving her a moment of peace?

 _Yes_ , he knew; _yes._

He took hold of the bitterness he found in his chest and held tight to it, knowing with grim resignation that it would fester.

"You used the Imperius Curse on me," Severus said eventually, after both he and Darian had been silent for several minutes. "I won't forgive you for that."

"I don't know, Severus. I think we should take advantage of our talents," Darian said coolly. "Don't you?"

Severus raised his wand, nudging it once into Darian's temple. "Don't you fucking do it again," he gritted out, a savagery pulsing in his chest.

Darian bowed his head. "Yeah," he said softly, his casual facade slipping as he nodded his agreement. "I won't. You have my word."


	22. The Doe

**Chapter 22: The Doe**

* * *

 _Mysterious disappearances: taken, or run? Rest: none for the wicked, nor for the weary. Political climate: promise me riches, my life sealed in a vault._

* * *

"How are N.E.W.T.s going, Prongs?" Remus asked, glancing over at him.

"I'm _Head Boy,_ Moony, there's no need to look so nervous," James said with a smirk, tossing a Bertie Bott's bean into his mouth. "I'm obviously N.E.W.T.-ing with the best of them."

"You're pretty fucking brave with those," Sirius noted, gesturing to the open box of candy. "Just forging ahead with no regard to the safety of your tastebuds, eh Prongs?"

"Am I a Gryffindor or not?" James supplied impishly. "Besides, it was red," he added, shrugging. "How bad could it have been?"

"Cherry?" Sirius guessed, reaching in and digging around for another red one before throwing it in the air and catching it in his mouth. "Fucking hell," he swore instantly, aiming his wand at his mouth and spraying something James had to assume was toothpaste directly onto his tongue. "Disgusting."

"Blood?" James asked hopefully, delighting in the prospect.

"No, marinara," Sirius explained, making a face. "I've never cared for basil."

"Fuck, you're refined," James remarked, reaching into the box and grabbing a handful, succumbing to a wild cacophony of flavors. "Anyway," he remembered, turning back to Remus, "like I was saying, there's no need to be nervous for me—"

"Yes," Remus agreed drily, "because I was losing sleep over your N.E.W.T. performance."

"—as I had my Transfiguration exam this morning," James continued, brushing aside the sarcasm, "and I _crushed_ it, as one might expect—"

"I presume those are Minnie's words? Sounds like her," Sirius remarked, winking smugly at Remus, who chuckled his agreement.

"I may have employed a small but forgivable paraphrase of McGonagall's reaction," James permitted curtly. "She _did_ , however, say she was 'deeply impressed'—"

"Just 'impressed,' I'd wager," Remus sighed, reaching over for a bean. " _Deeply_ impressed sounds more like a Prongs-ism." He made a face. "Gross," he muttered, forcing a swallow and nudging the box away from him. "Olives."

"Olives?" James demanded. "Really?"

"I don't care for them," Remus replied, unfazed.

"It's true," Sirius agreed, nodding. "Hates them. I'm always having to pick them out."

"I had no idea you were so particular, Moony," James exclaimed, impressed. "This is perhaps the first childish thing I'm hearing from you."

"I dislike olives," Remus said with a shrug. "We all have our flaws."

"Again, he's underselling his hatred," Sirius pressed. "You wouldn't _believe_ the extent of it, Prongs, I'm telling you—"

"Oh, you're just upset about the sandwich incident," Remus told him, turning back to James. "Pads was _so insulted_ that I didn't enjoy his hidden tapenade—"

"Tapenade is a tricky son of a bitch," James agreed solemnly, holding up a hand as Sirius made to argue. "Hold on," he murmured, pausing them outside the entrance to his dorm as they reached the Venus.

"What is this?" Sirius protested, gesturing to the hand James had raised to his face.

"Before we go in," James warned, glancing between them, "try not to mention your N.E.W.T.s, would you? Oh, Sanare Pura," he added, offering the Venus the password.

"Why not?" Sirius asked as the Venus purred warmly at them, letting the portrait swing open. James, in answer, merely held a finger to his lips, gesturing inside.

Remus gasped.

"Oh," he whispered.

"Oh _fuck,_ " Sirius declared, as James snuck a laugh behind his hand.

What once had been the common room was now home to a menagerie of creatures; a tawny mare now stood where the sofa had been—"Look," Sirius said excitedly, nudging Remus, "a horse!" "I see it, Pads," Remus muttered back, shaking his head in disinterest—and a troupe of ducklings that James suspected had once been books quacked their way across the carpet, which was itself partially levitated above the wooden floorboards. What had previously been their table and was now a particularly ill-mannered sheep _bahh_ -ed its disapproval of their presence, as a startlingly determined hawk swooped overhead, forcing them all to duck.

" _Vera Verto!"_ Lily shouted, aiming her wand from the top of the stairs, and then the bird dropped to the ground, resuming its form as a table lamp.

"Sorry," she sighed, descending the stairs hurriedly and nudging aside a porcupine that had been a pillow in a previous life. "Just trying to get a last minute bit of practice in before my exam tomorrow."

"The bird of prey was a nice touch, Evans," James said cheerfully, striding up to her and kissing the top of her head. "I liked it."

She shook her head, offering him a withering look. "I'm sure you did," she mumbled, and he grinned.

"What are you so worried about, Lils?" Sirius drawled as she determinedly made her way around the common room, tapping her creations and slowly melting the room back to its steady, inanimate pulse. "You're the best in our year, you _know_ that—"

"Yes, well, this _would_ be the one time I'd forget something important," she murmured, looking around. "Where's that bookshel- aha," she determined, picking up a small green lizard by its tail and setting it down in its proper place. "Here we go."

"Impressive," Remus remarked, as the lizard flicked its tongue once before stretching back into rigid mahogany. "I hardly think you need to worry about your exam, Lily."

"Well, as helpful as your support is, Remus, I'll feel much better when I've walked away with an Outstanding," she remarked, collapsing on the pot-bellied pig in the corner before realizing that it, although resolutely asleep, had not yet been returned to an armchair. "Ah, rats!"

James turned to Remus and Sirius, an idea forming in his brain as he watched Lily struggle to her feet, the pig releasing a loud snort of indignation before succumbing to upholstery.

"Friends," James began, "citizens of the world—"

"What is it?" Sirius asked, looking mournfully at the sofa-horse that was once again merely sofa. James stepped between him and Remus, throwing an arm around each neck before leaning in to address them in a low voice.

"I know we'd planned a last excursion of misbehavior before the end of the year," James ventured carefully, "but I was wondering if, perhaps, you might be okay with pushing it off."

"Other plans?" Remus asked, raising an eyebrow as Lily chased a mouse that James had a faint idea was really a teacup.

"I was thinking that perhaps Evans deserves a bit of shenanigans," James ventured, gesturing to her as she spun anxiously around the room. "Don't you think?"

"Not hijinks?" Sirius prompted curiously, and James shook his head.

"Better to start her off with a shenanigan," he explained, and Remus smiled.

"I think that makes sense, Prongs," he agreed with a nod, as Lily laid herself down on the floor, spent. "We've certainly had our fair share of hijinks."

"That was my thought," James agreed, before turning to Sirius. "Padfoot?"

"I concur with Mr Moony," Sirius proclaimed grandly, offering an approving nod. They watched as Lily, sprawled on the floor, promptly appeared to fall asleep, her lashes brushing across the fair curve of her cheek as her head lolled delicately to the side. "I think we've had our fun."

"Excellent," James determined with a nod, gripping both their shoulders tightly. "You're both magnificent human beings."

"True," Remus agreed with a nod. "We have our moments."

"Make sure to show Lils a good time, would you, Prongs?" Sirius prompted, his eyes crinkling with silent laughter as he surveyed the room. The last vestiges of Lily's magic were finally inanimate, albeit wholly out of place. "She clearly needs it."

James smiled fondly at Lily where she lay on the floor, taking in her look of exhaustion and feeling a swell of pride as a Kneazle-looking cat (which had once been a towel) curled up on top of her stomach, purring its loud satisfaction.

"Oh, I will," James agreed, transfiguring the towel-cat into a blanket and tossing it over her, listening to her murmur sleepily as she shifted. "Don't worry, I will."

* * *

"I can't believe it's over," Caleb remarked, shaking his head as they walked the length of the castle's viaduct. It was particularly quiet; _eerily_ quiet, as was the tendency when classes had ended and students were sitting for their exams. "I almost think I'll miss it."

"I know what you mean," Darian murmured, looking out over the stone ledge of the viaduct to take in the view of the lake. "This place is run by a collection of unbearable vessels of twattery, but—"

"It's home," Caleb supplied, and Darian nodded.

"Yes," he agreed, taking a breath to summon the brisk warmth of oncoming summer that crept eagerly into his lungs. "It's home."

They stood quietly for a moment, taking in the view; the sun was setting later now, bathing them in the golden glow of afternoon. He would remember this, he thought, his gaze flicking helplessly to Caleb.

The castle, and the afterglow.

"My father sent me an owl today," Caleb commented. "Shared a bit of interesting news."

"Oh?" Darian asked, sensing trouble. "Such as?"

"It appears I am to be made useful," Caleb remarked slowly. "By forced marriage to an unwilling teenage girl, naturally."

For a moment—in a startled breath—Darian's world came to a crashing halt; but just as quickly, he exhaled, ridding himself of his foolish expectations. He'd always known this would be the way for them. His own engagement was surely coming; he'd have no say in that, just as he'd had no say in anything that had come before. There was no purpose in pining, as much as he wished to mourn.

He cleared his throat, begging his voice not to shake. "Who?"

"Aurora Flint," Caleb said flatly, and Darian forced a nod.

"Not bad," he commented, aiming for neutrality, and Caleb, who could have read his intent on a blank page, chuckled.

"Fucked her already, didn't you?" he asked wryly.

Darian fought a smirk. "Twice last year," he confirmed. "So as you might expect, her expectations will be high," he added, trying for humor.

"I do love that my father made sure to choose her for her virtue," Caleb muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. "And what about _my_ expectations?" he prompted louder, turning back to Darian. "Equally high?"

"She certainly knows her way around a cock," Darian provided evenly.

"Not like you do," Caleb said, and Darian glanced at him, unsure if the edge to his voice had been bitterness or jest.

"Perhaps not," he offered ambiguously, and Caleb fell into a moody silence, kicking some loose rubble from the viaduct and watching it fall below.

"She's nice," Darian offered lamely, feeling the need to speak; Caleb looked up, glaring at him.

"I don't want _nice_ ," Caleb said, suddenly venomous, and Darian ached. "I don't look at my life and think _nice_ is what's missing from it, Darian—"

"Riddle me this, then, Caleb—at what point did you think you were going to have a life full of things you _wanted_?" Darian asked, stifling a humorless laugh. "Did you look at your father and think _he_ was happy? Or that you could be, after seeing his life?"

Caleb stiffened, displeased.

"I don't need a lecture from you, Darian," he growled. "I always knew what I'd chosen, and I haven't forgotten."

"Good," Darian declared shortly. "Because whatever this was—"

"Was?" Caleb asked, and then stiffness fell between them, the warmth of the air suddenly sticky against Darian's throat.

 _My name, my blood, my word,_ he reminded himself, shuffling painfully between the things he was made of and forcing himself to be firm.

"There was always an expiration date," Darian reminded him quietly, once he felt he'd managed to regain some control. "Whether you're engaged or not, us leaving school means—"

"I know what it means," Caleb snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. "I fucking _know what it means,_ Darian—"

"Then what do you want from me?" Darian cut in roughly, the sharp edge of honesty tearing at his chest. "What am I supposed to say to you? You know everything I know," he said, half-pleading, with a humiliating lilt of desperation. "You made all the same choices I did, Caleb, and there's nothing I can _do_ —"

"I know that," Caleb erupted, leaning onto the stone ledge of the viaduct and hanging his head. "I know all of that, but I don't—"

Caleb trailed off, sighing. "There's one thing I don't know," he confessed, and Darian stared straight ahead, not wanting to see the torment in Caleb's eyes that he could hear well enough in the murmur of his voice.

 _We were promised power,_ Darian wanted to tell him, _and we were promised glory for our loyalty, but we were never granted this._

This—whatever _this_ was. Freedom, in parts; love in others. It had never been promised.

It had never been earned.

"You don't need me to say it," Darian told him, letting the thundering swell of melancholy settle between them. "You don't _want_ me to, I promise you that," he added furiously, exhaling. "Your life will be easier if I never fucking say those words to you, I _promise_ —"

Caleb looked around before gripping his arm, pulling him to his chest. "Darian," he said, and Darian fought something that might have ripped itself from his throat—a sob, or else a scream. "Darian, just tell me—"

" _No_."

Darian yanked his arm from Caleb's grip, staring at him, at the face he'd learned to memorize. The face he dreaded and coveted in the span of a breath, in the space of a heartbeat.

"I'm doing you a favor, Caleb, believe me."

He took a step back, turning to lean against the stone of the viaduct, and Caleb moved to do the same. They stood in silence for several minutes, until Darian's gaze finally snagged on the movement of Caleb's chest.

"I know what I know," Darian offered slowly. _I'm a man who knows things._ "And so do you."

Caleb nodded his understanding, and then Darian turned around, looking out over the lake again. From afar he could see the stillness of the water, and he felt within his soul a desperate need to crash against it, to take it—this world he'd built, the steady rhythm of his unfailing choices—and turn it over, to upend it. To demand something else from himself, from the depths of him; from his heights.

"I can't believe it's over," Caleb said again, but this time Darian swallowed, shaking his head.

"Is it?" Darian asked softly, and Caleb's mouth—his perfect mouth, the fullness of it, the sweetness, the bitter _wrongness_ of it—twisted into a smile.

"No," he said, and Darian stepped closer, shutting his eyes. "Not for us."

* * *

Severus looked up from his dinner, catching the familiar glint of scarlet; he still hadn't unlearned the impulse to look up whenever Lily entered a room. She looked tired, he noticed, but he wasn't surprised; she had been like this over her O.W.L.s as well. Stress, pressure; she always took on too much.

That was the thing about Lily Evans, and her insatiable drive to succeed. It wasn't born from a need for praise or recognition. He might have hated it about her if that had been the case, but he loved it—as he had loved everything about her—because it was never as simple as that. It was, instead, a long-suffering desire not to disappoint; a need to work herself to exhaustion so that others might not be let down by her failures. The more perfect she appeared, the more he knew she was in turmoil; the more he knew she was counting her failures, ticking them off in her head, discounting herself. She measured her worth by the silly meaninglessness of random letters; defined herself in the space between an 'O' and an 'E.'

She wasn't likely to eat much, either, Severus thought, eyeing the way she glanced skeptically at her still-empty plate. He thought about sending her something, something to urge her to take care of herself—the last conversation had gone badly, after all, and perhaps there was something he could say—

He shut his eyes at his own stupidity, hearing Darian's voice. _Someday you'll realize it was your defiance that was your downfall—_

 _You gave him a refusal he couldn't accept—_

Severus opened his eyes, watching Lily smile weakly at McKinnon's urging.

— _and she'll be in danger as long as you fight it._

Severus watched from afar as Lily shook her head, reaching for a glass of water; and just as he told himself he'd have to intervene, he'd have to _say something_ to make sure she took care of herself—he watched James Potter turn towards her, murmuring something in her ear.

Lily shook her head, giving him a wry smirk, but James leaned over, spooning some food onto her plate and nudging her. She sighed, offering him what Severus knew to be feigned exasperation, but as she lifted her fork to take a bite, James leaned over to kiss her cheek, and she smiled.

Severus felt a rush of putrid revulsion; of sickening envy.

 _You'll have to protect her from afar for the rest of her fucking life—_

James turned, straddling the bench so that he faced her, watching her with an easy, affectionate reverence as she slowly relaxed, making conversation as she ate her dinner. Severus watched as James asked her questions and she answered, shrugging nonchalantly, until the stress that had weighed on her upon entering the hall seemed to have evaporated, absorbed into the space between them.

Severus felt something turn in his stomach.

 _You'll have to protect her from afar for the rest of her fucking life—_

James looked up, catching Severus' eye; he said nothing, _did_ nothing—beside him, Lily, who was relaxed enough at this point to laugh at something Sirius had said, was not paying attention—and Severus did not move.

 _She doesn't need me,_ Severus realized, and the knife that had been living in his chest since Lily's departure slowly twisted before wrenching itself free, leaving him with a gasping, vacant sorrow. _She's already taken care of._

There was only one thing he could do for her now, and it was to make sure she would live her life unburdened by what he—and his foolish resistance—had inadvertently brought to it.

Severus tore his glance away from James, looking up to catch Darian and Caleb as they stood to exit the hall. Severus stood too, moving in concert with them—conscious of James' wary gaze that followed him, brows furrowed curiously—and paused beside them, lowering his head to address Darian in a low voice.

"Tell him I'll do it," he muttered, and looked up, catching James Potter's eye. "Tell him I'll take the Mark."

 _Take care of her,_ Severus thought vigorously, and across the room, James offered him a single, stony nod.

Darian exhaled heavily, like he was finally letting out a breath he'd been holding for a considerable length of time. "Good," Darian pronounced evenly, and then he turned, saying nothing.

Severus wondered if later he might look back on this moment and see it all through the eye of a needle, the immensity of what he'd decided, and what he'd let go of; the promises made in the span of a nod. The shift in the universe at the pace of a pulse.

He took a final look at Lily; his last, he decided.

Then he reached inside himself for the bitterness of her absence and clung to it, leaving her behind as he exited the hall, finally spent.

* * *

"Okay," James said, sounding entirely too cheerful, "open your eyes."

"Potter," Lily sighed, "if it's your dick, I swear to god—"

"Evans!" James exclaimed, his eyes wide in artless horror. "I would _never—_ well, I might," he amended thoughtfully. "Not going to rule it out. But not this time, anyway," he assured her, and she conceded to open her eyes, taking the blank bit of parchment from his hands.

"What's this?" she asked, looking up at him. "If you wanted to give me a piece of"—she paused, glancing over it—"mildly stained parchment—"

"Say hello," James said merrily, his eyes glinting as he nudged the hand that held the parchment. "Come on, Evans—"

"This isn't funny," Lily sighed, shaking her head at his nonsensical insistence. "Potter, I should be _studying_ right now, I really don't need to—"

"No, we already discussed this. You're taking the night off, Evans," James reminded her briskly, picking her wand up from the table and placing it in her free hand. "Now, give it a tap and say hello."

She glared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Lily," he sighed, his voice melting to a syrupy plea, "just _do it_ , please."

She groaned. "Fine."

She looked down at the parchment, giving it a tap with her wand. "Hello," she said uncertainly, instantly feeling stupid and glaring at James. "I'm Lily Evans, and I—"

She paused, startled, as words began to appear on the smooth surface of the parchment; as though an invisible hand were writing upon it.

 _Mr Moony presents his compliments to Miss Evans, and delights in informing her that she would be better off venturing her enchanting attention somewhere far more suitable for her alluring nosiness._

"What!" Lily exclaimed, looking up to glare at James. "Potter!"

He, she noted, appeared to have expected this; he was holding his hand over his face, stifling a laugh. "Look," he managed, gesturing. "More!"

 _Mr Padfoot agrees with Mr Moony and would like to add that Miss Evans, whose inimitable charm astonishes, should be quite ashamed of herself for her intolerable prying._

"Potter," Lily growled, "I swear—"

 _Mr Wormtail would like to add—in conjunction with the opinions of Messrs Padfoot and Moony, Sirs of Questionable Repute—that he, too, considers Miss Evans to have toed her lovely, sensational toes right up to the line of inappropriate meddling._

Lily looked up with an exhausted glare. "Alright, that's _enough—_ "

"Hold on," James said with a chuckle, peering over the parchment. "Just wanted to see if—"

 _Mr Prongs would just like to add that Miss Evans looks lovely today and, in fact, all days, and has absolutely nothing more to say._

"Well, that's about right," James sighed, looking disappointed, but the writing continued.

 _Mr Moony would like to assert that Mr Prongs is far too lenient with the intrusive Miss Evans, and chooses this opportunity to remind Mr Prongs not to be quite such an intolerably lovesick fool._

 _Mr Padfoot would like to add that in addition to Mr Moony's commentary—which is, as ever, entirely true and wholly accurate—that he is, frankly, speechless at Mr Prong's unfailing idiocy, and—_

 _Mr Prongs would like to EMPHATICALLY INTERJECT and say HOW VERY DARE YOU BOTH—_

"Alright, alright, good to know," James determined, shaking his head and nudging her wand hand again. "Anyway, Evans—this time, give it a tap and say 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good'—"

"And then I can go back to studying?" Lily sighed. " _Please_?"

"Maybe," James shamelessly lied, and nudged her again. "Say it, would you? 'I solemnly swear—"

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Lily mumbled indistinctly, and then the parchment's thin lines began to spread like a spider's web from the point of her wand, joining and fanning into every corner until script spread across the top in curling green lettering to read:

 _ **THE MARAUDER'S MAP**_

"Potter," Lily ventured tentatively, holding her breath as an unsettlingly detailed drawing of the Hogwarts castle and grounds began to spread across the page, "what am I holding, exactly?"

"You're holding our plans for the evening, Evans," James trumpeted smartly, reaching out to tap her nose. "We're going marauding."

"No, no, _no_ ," she said fervently, shaking her head, though she couldn't quite manage to take her eyes off the movement of the drawing in her hands. "I have so many spells to practice still, and I—"

She cut off abruptly, taking another glance at the top of the map; _Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs—_

"Potter," she exclaimed, giving him a shove, "did _you_ make this?"

"I'll never tell," he declared with a wink, "but yes."

"This is incredible," she determined, watching the labeled dots that showed Professor Dumbledore pacing in his study; Peeves the Poltergeist bouncing around the trophy room; Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, prowling the second floor. "Potter, this is _insanely_ advanced magic—"

"Yes, yes, I'm very impressive," he assured her, prompting her to roll her eyes. "This, the Marauder's Map, is part one of how we're going to have an undetected romp around the castle."

"Part one?" she echoed faintly, before registering what he'd said. "Potter, it's after curfew!" she exclaimed. "We _can't_ —"

"We can, and we will," he informed her, pulling a silvery piece of fabric out of his schoolbag. "This, by the way, is part two."

"Is that an invisibility cloak?" she asked, astonished, and he grinned mercilessly at her, throwing it over his shoulders and disappearing from the neck down in answer. "Is _this_ how you've gotten up to so much mischief all these years?"

"Possibly," he said with a shrug, and then opened his arm, gesturing for her to join him under the cloak. "Come on, Evans."

She balked, glancing at the clock above the mantle. "It's late, James," she argued faintly, shaking her head. "I should be working, and I _certainly_ shouldn't be out breaking rules—"

"Evans," he said, fixing her with his dancing hazel eyes, "this is our last week here, isn't it?"

"Yes," she permitted, "but—"

"And you've never been out after curfew before, have you?"

"No," she agreed, "and—"

"Lily," he sighed, taking two long strides towards her before pulling her into the circle of his arms and tucking her body under the cloak with his. "I've spent years learning this castle," he murmured in her ear, aiming a kiss at the side of her neck as she turned her head, sighing. "And before I go, I want you to see it."

"I've seen it," she protested weakly, though she melted a little at the feel of his lips against her skin.

"Come see it with _me_ ," he whispered. "For the first and last time. Please?"

She paused, thinking it over.

"We'll be invisible," she said slowly, "and we'll see on the map if anyone's coming?"

"Yes," he promised, nipping at her earlobe.

"And you won't keep me out _too_ late," she said, pulling back to admonish him. "Right?"

"Promise," he said quickly— _too quickly_ , she thought suspiciously—but at the hopeful look in his eyes, she conceded, offering him a dramatic sigh of resignation.

" _Fine_ ," she conceded, and then yelped as he pulled her under his arm, heading straight for the portrait's exit.

She hated to admit he was right, but he really _did_ know the castle; he'd seen it in a way she never had, taking her through countless labyrinthine paths. He kept her in a constant state of breathless confusion as he'd glance down with a _Lumos_ , checking the map for Filch or Peeves before dragging her around another corner, eager to show her another portrait—"Look," he said, pointing, "Linfred!"—or another statue—"I call this one 'Lonely Gargoyle,'" he whispered at a particularly moody-looking creature, and she smothered a giggle—muttering stories of how he'd _narrowly escaped_ this or _cleverly ducked_ that. She, exhilarated by her first time venturing outside the rules, said almost nothing, clinging tightly to him as he showed her what felt like her first real view of the castle.

"This is amazing," she whispered as he pulled her into an alcove— _just_ missing the Bloody Baron as he swept mournfully through the corridor. "I can't believe all the things I never noticed before."

"Oblivious, Evans," he said fondly, giving her waist a squeeze before pulling her along behind him again.

"Where are we going?" she asked, looking around, her hand securely in his. "I never go on this floor—"

"I don't either, usually," he admitted, looking around. "But there's a room here, sometimes, and I've never quite figured it out."

"Here?" she asked, pausing. "There's no room here."

"That's what I'm saying!" he exclaimed, gesturing. "Once, there was a broom cupboard here that I hid in—and another time, I _swear_ , there was a room here, full of all these—well," he sighed, "you probably wouldn't believe me even if I could explain." His brow furrowed in thought as he eyed the wall. "But, in any case—mischief managed," he muttered to the map, and it cleared, going blank at the tip of his wand.

"Not that I don't believe you," she began slowly, "but if it _does_ exist, it's not on the map," she noted with a frown, watching the ink disappear. "Why not?"

"Well, I told you," he said, his eyes still on the wall, "I never figured it out." He frowned, reaching out to pass a hand over the stone. "I've come back here countless times, but—"

"Maybe it only appears when you need it?" she guessed, squinting at the entryless wall. "The castle is sentient, you know, so it's probably capable, if the room has a summoning spell of some kind."

"Maybe," he agreed, and then turned, looking at her with a slow, mischievous smile and offering an impassive shrug. She recognized the look in his eye and shook her head in feigned disapproval, fighting a smile.

"You're insatiable," she sighed, and he grinned.

"You know, I thought I'd be furious if I didn't figure out this room before the end," he murmured, maneuvering her so that she was pressed against the wall. "But as it turns out, I think I'll survive."

"You think?" she asked playfully, stretching out against him. "I'd hate to leave you disappointed."

"You never do," he reminded her, voice husky in her ear as he slid his hands under her skirt. "Never."

She pressed against him as he hiked her leg over his hip, slipping a hand under her arse and nudging her chin up to give him access to her neck.

"Lily," he murmured suddenly, and she vacantly _mmm_ -ed her acknowledgement, "move in with me."

" _What_?" she exclaimed, and he clapped a hand over her mouth, smothering a laugh. "What?" she repeated, quieter, and he kissed her hard—dizzying her—before repeating himself.

"Move in with me," he suggested again, shifting her in his arms so that she had both legs settled around him, resting atop his hips. "Please," he added with a smirk, dropping a kiss to her jaw.

"I," she began, closing her eyes and fighting a whimper as he nudged her knickers aside, toying with her as he pressed her against the wall, "am not entirely sure that's a good idea."

"Of course it is," he corrected her gruffly, punctuating the point with a merciless thrust of his hips against hers. "I've got a house. You've got a you. And you're in love with me," he added, his voice a breathy whisper in her ear.

"I'm not," she protested, reaching down to slide her fingers under the band of his trousers. "I hate you, Potter, you _know_ this—"

"I love you, Lily," he said against her lips, shoving her back. "Move in with me."

"What?" she said, reaching up to grip his arms as she processed what he'd said. " _James—_ "

"I love you," he repeated, his hair falling into his eyes as he stared at her, "and you love _me_ —"

She looked at him, at the glassy haze in his eyes and the way he looked at her, and she realized with a pang of alarm just what she was looking at.

Not Potter, she realized.

 _James._

"I love you," she said, startling herself with the realization first, and then the words. "Oh fuck me," she groaned, "I _love you—_ "

He tightened his grip around her waist, kissing her again; he was relentless, but so was she, realizing with each breath that escaped her that he'd been right all along.

"Move in with me," he rasped when they broke apart, and she held her breath, resting her forehead against his.

 _Would it be so bad, a life with James Potter?_ She reached up, tracing the line of his jaw. Was this what she'd been waiting for?

He closed his eyes, the portrait of unyielding patience; she let out a breath, smiling.

"Yes," she whispered eventually. "Fine. You win."

He kissed her swiftly, casually; a kiss of second nature. "I do," he whispered back.

There was a noise somewhere from the opposite end of the corridor and Lily jumped, James' arms tightening protectively around her.

"Who's there?" Filch called, his surly growl ricocheting around the stone walls. "Students out of bed!"

James wordlessly gripped her hips, nudging her back; she shifted, trying to disentangle from him, and then clapped a hand over her mouth in horror as the Marauder's Map loosed itself from his pocket, falling to the ground and slipping out under the raised lip of the invisibility cloak.

"Aha!" Filch called greedily, lunging forward; James swept her back just in time for Filch's fingers to narrowly miss the edge of the cloak. "Students out of bed, eh?"

He looked down at the page, frowning; James cringed, and Lily held her breath.

"What's this," he muttered to himself, then looked up. "Who's there?"

He took a step forward and Lily, ever the quick thinker, wordlessly transfigured one of the corridor's torches from afar; a bullfrog instantly leapt down the hall with an inspired vehemence, drawing Filch's attention and unevenly patterned gait along with it.

" _Run_ ," she mouthed to James, and they took off in the opposite direction, flying down the stairs and collapsing in a fit of muffled laughter outside the portrait entrance to their dorm.

"Wormy's going to kill me," James panted breathlessly, raking a hand through his hair as he pulled her close to him, his limbs tangled with hers as they sank, exhausted, to the floor. "Fuck, confiscated by Filch, what an end to our marauding—"

She paused hesitantly, wondering if he would be angry with her, but he was shaking his head, chuckling. "You're dangerous, Evans," he murmured, his breath catching momentarily as he watched her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"But you love me," she whispered, coiling her arms around his neck. "Right?"

He smiled. "But I love you," he promised, and above them, the Venus crowed her approval.


	23. The Order

**Chapter 23: The Order**

* * *

 _Political climate: reach out, let it melt on your tongue._

* * *

"So," Remus ventured, opening a box and leaping back as a withered pixie emerged, blowing him an indignant raspberry, "what are you going to call it?"

"Call what?" James asked, aiming his wand at the pixie and then leaping back as it smacked him with an aged, skeletal wing. "For _fuck's sake_ —"

"You know, you could just stay in _my_ room, Moony," Sirius reminded Remus, leaning against the doorframe and watching with amusement as James retaliated, swatting the pixie with an old cartographic anthology that had previously belonged to his father. "Would probably be easier than sorting out the mess that's in here."

"Would you _do something_ , please?" James demanded, and Sirius flicked his wand lazily, freezing the pixie mid-air and watching as it fell to the floor with a loud thunk.

Remus straightened, offering Sirius a round of quiet applause. "Much appreciated," he murmured, and flashed him a smile. "And," he added carefully, "while I appreciate the invitation, I do need _some_ space of my own, Padfoot."

"Why?" Sirius protested gruffly, glancing down, and James averted his gaze, suddenly feeling oddly intrusive. He busied himself elsewhere, pretending to be deeply involved with a box marked ' _mittens of unusual size_.'

"Pads," Remus sighed fondly, walking over to him and resting a hand on his shoulder. "You have a very small closet," he murmured, and Sirius' mouth flickered into a smile, leaning into his touch.

"That's all?" Sirius asked, and Remus nodded, his hand slipping to circle Sirius' wrist.

"Promise," Remus assured him quietly. "I just need a place for my books, and maybe sometimes my thoughts, but everything else—"

He trailed off meaningfully, and Sirius nodded. "Okay," Sirius agreed, just as James picked up a large box that tore from the bottom, a series of old potion vials promptly shattering on the floor.

"Oh," James said, muttering an _Evanesco_ and freezing in place as he glanced anxiously between the other two. "I didn't hear anything, in case you were wondering."

Remus shook his head, smiling. "I suppose it's fair to admit it now," he mused, glancing sideways at Sirius, who nodded. "We've, er—"

"Been fucking," Sirius supplied. "In a romantic way," he added, as Remus glared reproachfully at him.

"WHAT," James erupted dramatically, bringing his hand to his chest and swaying where he stood. "THIS IS NEWS—"

"Alright then, Prongs," Remus sighed.

"—I AM SPEECHLESS—"

"Prongs, we get it—"

"—HOW DID I MISS IT—"

"Prongs, get off the floor, we know you haven't fainted—"

"—YOU'VE MADE ME A FOOL—"

"Okay," Remus groaned, walking over to collapse on the floor beside him. "So you knew."

"Yes, I knew," James confirmed with a haughty sniff, lifting his head. "I assumed you would tell me in your own time—though I had no idea it would take quite _this_ long," he qualified sternly. "But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, seeing how you both _do so enjoy_ underestimating my breathtaking powers of observation—"

"Anyway," Sirius interrupted loudly, sprawling out beside them, "as Moony was saying—"

"Oh yes," Remus said thoughtfully, recalling. "What are you going to call it?"

"Wolfstar, I think," James determined, squinting at them. "I think that sounds right."

"Not _us_ ," Sirius groaned, then paused. "Though I do like that."

"I meant your guerilla warfare," Remus clarified, chuckling a little. "But yes, Wolfstar does have a certain poeticism to it."

"It's really not mine to name," James said with a shrug. "I spoke to Dumbledore before we left, and it's really his rebellion to manage."

"It does relieve me slightly that Dumbledore's taking some ownership of this," Remus confessed, "though I might have hoped he'd recruit people with slightly more experience."

"Well, Moony, keep dreaming," James declared. "People with experience want nothing to do with our little project, it seems."

"Doesn't matter," Sirius determined briskly. "I'd take Prongs over—who, Barty Crouch?" he asked, frowning. "Or fucking Cornelius Fudge—or anyone else with _experience_ , anyway."

"I am both startled and pleased by your endorsement," James remarked with surprise, preening slightly. "Thank you, Padfo-"

"Head Dickhead forever!" Sirius interrupted in answer, raising an imaginary glass. James sighed, offering a subsequent imaginary clink. "Better to follow a brave idiot than a hypocritical cunt, I always say—"

"Hear, hear," James agreed, and they both pretended to sip.

"So anyway, the _name_ ," Remus said loudly. "Surely you should call it something other than your 'mismanaged rebellion,' seeing as that's not exactly a favorable description—"

"Peak accuracy, though," James pointed out, and Sirius nodded.

"Maybe something _more_ accurate?" he suggested. "The Disorder of the Morally Right but Hopelessly Deluded—"

"How about the opposite?" Remus prodded, shaking his head. "The _Order_ , maybe, of—"

"The Order," James cut in approvingly, his eyes widening. "The Order of—" He snapped his fingers, gesturing to Sirius. "What's an animal that represents us?"

"Octopus," Sirius replied solemnly. "Gloopy, and with tentacles."

"A lion?" Remus suggested. "The Order of the Lion?"

"Seems exclusionary in a way," James said, humming thoughtfully. "As if it's a Gryffindor-specific rebellion, you know?"

"True," Remus permitted, thinking. "What's something that would eat a snake?"

"A bird of prey," Sirius said instantly. "The Order of the Osprey."

Remus frowned at him. "You're really invested in alliteration, aren't you?"

"A phoenix," James interrupted, suddenly bolting upright. "The Order of the Phoenix, because—"

"Because we rise," Remus realized aloud, and then an awe-filled silence settled around them as they took in the meaning of the words.

"Because we rise," James agreed, and beside him, Sirius nodded.

"We're really going to do this, then," Sirius remarked, his grey eyes sharp as he glanced at James. "We're really going to fight him, aren't we?"

"Or die trying," James confirmed weakly, and they looked at Remus, who offered a slow nod of agreement.

"We have to," Remus said. "We have to make this world into something we believe in."

They glanced at each other, sharing a moment of tacit agreement and unspoken fear; it was a silent expression of commiseration and fealty, and they clung to it, heads bowed.

"The Order of the Phoenix," Sirius murmured eventually. "You think it could work?"

"Better than doing nothing," James asserted, getting to his feet. "Doing anything at all is better than sitting back and watching." He reached out, helping Remus to his feet. "Right, Professor Lupin?"

"Right," Remus confirmed with a nod, and they crowded around each other, taking a syncopated breath of kinship.

"Well," Sirius said, looking around, "we've certainly made some progress here."

"In life, yes, but almost none in this _room_ ," Remus pointed out with a sigh. "Where's Lily?" he added curiously, glancing at James.

"She said she had to finish something," James remarked, and then paused. "Suppose we should get her in here." He walked to the doorway, calling down the hall. "Evans!"

"What?" she demanded, shouting back.

"Get in here, would you? We've got a vicious pixie infestation to best—"

"Hush, Potter, I'm nearly finished—"

"—it's a mess, I tell you, a _mess—_ "

"—it's _your_ mess, Potter, for the love of god—"

"—Evans, don't make me come in there—"

"—would you pause your fuckery for _one moment_ , please—"

"Ah, young love," Sirius remarked, throwing an arm over James' shoulder and smiling beatifically. "Magnificent."

"It's not _not_ magnificent," James retorted, reaching instinctively for his pocket at the thought.

"What's this?" Sirius asked, catching the motion. "Holding onto something, are you?"

James fidgeted, fighting a smile. "Nothing really," he said ambiguously, reaching in to close his fingers around the box that contained his mother's ring.

Remus joined them in the doorway as Lily yelled that she was on her way—they could hear her muttering something to herself about " _where the fuck do you keep your quills, Potter, this room is an utter catastrophe_ "—and offered them a knowing grin.

"Just in case, Prongs?" Remus asked, and James smiled his agreement.

"Yes," he confirmed, tapping the edge of the box. "Just in case."

* * *

Lily looked around the room; at her clothes that now hung beside James', and the small jewelry box that her mother had given her that she'd placed on his— _their_ , she reminded herself—dresser, and felt an odd moment of peace.

It was a mess, of course, and there were boxes everywhere around the house, but still. Things finally felt somehow _in place,_ and she stood for a moment and looked around, taking stock of her new life.

It was funny how things had turned out. She couldn't laugh yet, obviously, as pain lingered behind her (and fear certainly taunted ahead), but there was something vaguely entertaining to the idea that she would have found what she wanted in something that had always been right under her nose. He'd come a long way over the years, no doubt, but still; she would never have guessed. _Oblivious, Evans,_ she heard him say, and she smiled, resting her head back against the wall.

It was nearly perfect, she realized, even while the rest of the world was falling apart. Here, in this ancient pureblood manor house, she'd somehow managed to find a man who was willing—and ready; _far_ more ready than she was—to stand by her side, to give her the world. To _change_ the world, partially for her; and partially because that's just who he was. Part rebel, part visionary, part tireless warrior, part—

"Evans!"

 _Part infuriating foghorn_ , she sighed, but smiled as she shouted back. "What?"

"Get in here, would you? We've got a vicious pixie infestation to best—"

She rolled her eyes. "Hush, Potter, I'm nearly finished—"

"—it's a mess, I tell you, a _mess—_ "

"—it's _your_ mess, Potter, for the love of god—"

"—Evans, don't make me come in there—"

"—would you pause your fuckery for _one moment_ , please—"

She broke off, preparing to walk down the hall and take her exasperation to his idiotic, thoroughly handsome face, but stopped momentarily, pausing in the doorway. It was the first day of the rest of her life, she realized; her life with James Potter, and her life as a _witch_ , not merely straddling worlds between her schooling and her heritage. Her life trying to make a difference. Her life without—

She sobered, Severus' face floating into her mind. It was _nearly_ perfect, she thought sadly, feeling a pang in her chest.

She had watched him board the train but kept her distance; knowing, somehow, that their last exchange had truly been their last. He wouldn't want to hear anything from her, she knew, but still, there had been something about him, about the way he kept his stony gaze fixed straight ahead, and she wished she'd had a chance to tell him—to say in words exactly what he had meant to her. What she hadn't managed to say in their goodbye.

It couldn't go unsaid, she realized, and so she grabbed a bit of parchment from her bag, searching their room for something to write with and muttering to herself as she prowled the space.

She sat down, a drop of ink dripping from the point of her quill.

July 1, 1978

The first day of the rest of her life, she thought with a sigh, and then she lowered the quill to the page, letting the ink do the rest.

 _Dear Severus,_

 _While I can scarcely presume to know how you feel, know that it hurts me at least as much to write this as it does for you to hear it. I'm not perfect, you know, and perhaps I'm being selfish, but I can't imagine a world where I don't say these words to you. So forgive me, Sev, in advance._

 _I know you don't understand the choices I've made, and in the interest of not dragging us through any more suffering, I won't try to explain them to you. I could easily say the same for yours, you know, but I won't. Not now. I want us to end where we started—_

 _With_ love _._

 _I know that my choosing James must feel like a betrayal to you, and I hate to say I understand, though I can assure you that he's changed. I can see your face as I write that and I don't know whether to laugh or cry, knowing I'll probably never see you that way again, your dark hair falling into your eyes while you give me that moody stare of yours—but I'll get to that. I'll get there._

 _It's important to me that you know that what I have with James will never diminish anything I shared with you. You're my first love, Severus, and while that may not be good enough, it will still always be good. It will always have been consuming and raw and a defining piece of me, and a light with which to look back on everything that's happened. I prefer to preserve you that way, in the stolen moments before everything got so horribly contorted in the midst of all this. This war._

 _We can't come back from what's happened, nor would I want to. We aren't who we were, and I like to think that's because there's something out there for who we're going to be. Both of us, Sev. For both of us._

She paused, thinking.

 _I'm rambling, I know. I know you hate that. You love a concise point, and I've always had too much whimsy for you, haven't I? I'll make my point now. You would want me to. I can see your face, like always; I can hear my name on your lips._ Just say it, Lily.

She sighed.

 _Alright, Severus. I will._

 _It comes to this, in the end: my future belongs to James. I have grown up, and I've made my choice, as you've made yours. But I beg you, Severus, to look back on us with fondness, because whatever this life brings us, my youth will have always been yours._

 _There,_ she wrote, in a moment of purposeful resignation, _I've said it, and now maybe my heart will let me rest. Be safe, Severus, and be happy; for everything that's passed between us, I sincerely hope you find what you're looking for._

She paused before signing. _Love?_ she thought, and frowned. _Sincerely?_

 _The goal had been to tell the truth_ , she reminded herself, and scribbled her signature.

 _Always,_ she wrote,

 _Lily_

"Evans!" James barked again from somewhere down the hall, and she jumped. "Are you coming?"

"Yes, yes," she assured him loudly, sighing in exasperation as she blew over the page to dry the ink, folding it up and tucking it in her pocket. "Relax, would you? I just have to—"

"Evans," he said breathlessly, suddenly appearing in the doorway and reaching out a hand for her. "Get over here."

She took in the look of unutterable mischief on his face and the messy carelessness of his hair, and promptly rolled her eyes. "I'm coming," she assured him. "I just have to send an owl first."

"Alright," he agreed, swooping in to press a kiss to her unsuspecting lips, chuckling against her mouth. "Love you," he murmured, and she smiled, shoving him away.

"I love you, you menace," she said primly, and he bounded away, laughing.

She looked down at the parchment in her hand and smiled again, clearing the fragile cobwebs of her past to make room.

 _Goodbye,_ she thought, and for a moment, her chest tightened; but then, just like that, she could breathe.

* * *

Severus sat in the study of the house on Spinner's End, staring blankly out the window.

"It's yours now, if you want it," his mother Eileen had said, her face as expressionless as always. "Considering the times, I think it's best if we—"

She paused. " _We_ think it's best if we go elsewhere," she explained, glancing up at where Tobias was asleep in their bedroom.

"Where?" Severus had asked, though he didn't particularly care. She wasn't wrong.

"Your father has family in Belgium," she said slowly, and he did his best not to flinch at her reference to Tobias. "He's— _we're_ —probably safer there, for now," she added, and Severus nodded again.

 _Tobias Snape was no longer safe in his home_ , Severus agreed, instinctively clenching his fist. She was at least right about that much.

"Keep the house or sell it, whatever you prefer," Eileen continued. "I've left a few galleons in the study to keep you going for a bit, but—"

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "I've gotten a job."

"You have?" she asked, attempting brightness. "Oh, Severus, that's—"

A loud grunt from Tobias echoed from upstairs and she jumped, clutching her chest.

"I suppose I should finish packing," she whispered, swallowing, before focusing again on her son. "You'll be alright, won't you? You could come," she added, though she clearly hoped that he wouldn't.

Severus shook his head. "I'll be fine, Mum," he said quietly. "You go." _Or stay_ , he thought, catching the fear in her eyes as Tobias began to move upstairs. _You're not beholden to him, I can keep you safe—_

"Yes, I should go," she said, and then, within hours, she did.

And now Severus was alone.

 _Better that way_ , he reminded himself, relieved that Tobias was gone from his life, even if it had meant that he lost his mother with him. She'd never been much of a presence, and at least she'd left him something. A bit of money—not much, but he could always sell the house and—

He swallowed, realizing that wasn't true. He could never sell this house. Not with its proximity to Lily.

Wherever she was now.

"You ready?" Darian said, stepping out from the bathroom. "This is quite a lovely shithole," he commented, looking around. "Sort of like an odd, cramped nightmare house."

"You don't know the half," Severus agreed, coming to his feet. He glanced out the window again, seeing from it the path he might have walked to get to her, to their spot under the tree; to the place where he'd given her all of himself.

"I have to do one thing," Severus realized as he straightened, reaching for a small vial from the desk. "Five minutes?"

"Five minutes," Darian agreed with a shrug, and Severus slipped the vial into his pocket, heading up the stairs to his bedroom.

He shut the door behind him, resting his head against it, and put his wand to his head, slowly replaying everything that had happened.

The nod from James Potter, his hand on Lily's knee— _Tell him I'll take the Mark—_

Lily's tearful face, her hand on his chest— _Sev, please—_

The lights he'd strung in the trees, the way they'd reflected the expression of her face; the glimmer of their shared illusion as it shattered— _I can't do this—_

The subtle smile on her face, reserved just for him; the promise in her lips. Her fingers as they slid warmly against his jaw— _This is a hard love, isn't it?_

Her fearful whisper in his ear. _Severus?_

 _A true absence of fortune—_

His fingers brushing up her thigh. _Are you sure there isn't something you need to say?_

The shake to her voice. _Severus, what is it that you know?_

Her lips against his neck— _always?—_ and the twitch of alignment as he pieced together her worries, stitched together her thoughts: _always._

 _Kiss me._

 _Is that what you need?_

 _It's what I want—_

He swallowed painfully.

 _This is my spot, Severus—_

 _No it's not, it's ours—_

The green of her eyes; the white flag that she'd raised.

 _It's harder than it looks, Severus._

 _What is?_

 _Being away from you—_

The idyllic enchantment of the previous summer.

 _We have plenty of time._

The moment she'd turned around.

 _I promise to show you—_

And when all that was left was his view of her long auburn hair—the way it flowed down her back as she turned away—he memorialized it; burned it into his mind.

He dragged his wand from his temple, the memories glowing at the tip of it, and poured out his love in a vial. It wouldn't do to serve what might have been, he knew; it wouldn't be safe for her—or for him, for that matter—to allow her to be at the forefront of his mind.

It was the first day of the rest of his life, and she couldn't be in it.

 _Goodbye,_ he thought, eyeing the silky threads of memory, and for a moment, his chest tightened; but then, just like that, he could breathe.

He tucked the vial in a drawer and came downstairs. "Sorry," he said, and Darian turned, stowing his wand in his pocket and offering him an ambivalent shrug.

"Ready?" he asked, and Severus nodded, his left hand twitching expectantly.

"Ready," he murmured, and didn't look back.

* * *

The owl had arrived at the dingy window while Severus had been upstairs—girding his loins, or whatever the fuck he'd felt necessary to do. Darian didn't blame him. It was no easy task, surrendering one's fate. Five minutes wouldn't hurt.

Though, of course, that wasn't going to prevent Darian from opening the letter after he'd seen the feminine script on the page—naturally. He was patient, but he wasn't stupid.

Darian unfolded the parchment, scanning the page.

 _Dear Severus,_

 _While I can scarcely presume to know how you feel, know that it hurts me at least as much to write this as it does for you to hear it. I'm not perfect, you know, and perhaps I'm being selfish, but I can't imagine a world where I don't say these words to you. So forgive me, Sev, in advance._

Darian looked up, rolling his eyes, and promptly brought his wand to the page upon finishing the letter, setting it ablaze and letting the ashes fall to the floor before vanishing them with a flick of his wand.

Darian felt a moment of fury for Lily Evans, for the way she thought her love would be healing; could she really not understand that Severus would find nothing in his life until he was free of her? That the things he'd done for her, for _love_ of her, had dug him into a bottomless chasm of misery? That the fact that he loved her very nearly _destroyed_ him—and might still, if he could not let go?

 _How dare she,_ he thought, wishing with a sudden roar of hatred that he could destroy her words a second time. He felt rage then, simmering inside him, for the nerve she'd had, to think that love was ever enough.

He shut his eyes. _My youth will have always been yours,_ Lily's voice said in his ear.

Her face mixed with Caleb's then, until all he could see in his mind were blue eyes, the twist of his mouth.

 _Three things,_ Darian reminded himself firmly. _My name, my blood, and my word—_

 _Four things,_ Caleb's voice interrupted.

Four things.

 _My youth will have always been yours._

"Sorry," Severus said behind him, and Darian hurriedly returned his wand to his pocket, shrugging to hide the motion.

"Ready?" he prompted, and felt a strange sense of pride at the way Severus did not flinch.

"Ready," Severus murmured, and that was that.

They apparated to Nott Manor, and neither spoke another word; Darian said nothing as Severus walked through the double doors of the entry hall, nor did he speak as Severus faced the Dark Lord, nodding his assent.

"How did it go?" Caleb asked quietly, materializing at Darian's right side. Darian, in answer, shoved him against the wall of the vacant entry room, fixing him with a hungry stare.

 _How dare you,_ Darian thought, _how dare you exist, how dare you make me question everything I know, how dare you destroy me—_

Caleb lunged forward, burying his fingers in Darian's hair as he drew a broken gasp from his lungs, bruising him with a kiss. It was always fire and friction with Caleb; fury and flight.

Darian pulled away, circling Caleb's throat with his hand; Caleb stood still, holding his breath.

 _Fight it,_ Darian thought desperately, _fight this,_ _fight me—_

"My name," Caleb rasped, and Darian let his head fall forward, a shallow sob ripping itself from his lips as his hand slipped to Caleb's chest, "my blood. My word." Caleb met his eye, dragging a thumb across Darian's lip. "And you."

 _My youth will have always been yours._

"And you," Darian choked out in agreement, perishing in the toxicity of the promise.

* * *

Lily woke up in the middle of the night, reaching a hand out for James beside her; at the cool slip of his absence she slowly sat up, wondering where he'd gone.

A noise from outside drew her attention and she came slowly to her feet, her bare toes pressing lightly against the cold wood. She moved hesitantly to the open window and settled herself in the frame, catching a faint flicker of movement from the gardens below.

She glanced down, seeing James there; it was a warm night and he was shirtless, the moon prompting a metallic kind of glow around the shape of his shoulders and lining the sinews of his back. She watched curiously as he looked out at something she couldn't see, squinting into the dark, before he suddenly paused, turning over his shoulder and seeking her out.

It had been almost like he could sense her there—like in their time together, he had memorized the shape of her presence in the universe and he could feel where she was, quietly hovering in his orbit—and he met her gaze, looking wild and carefree; a spark of something manic in his eye. He turned his head to look at her, lifting his chin to meet her eye, and then winked, mouthing two words over his shoulder: _Watch this._

She watched; her breath hitched, and in a sigh she understood: _Prongs._

And then the stag took off in the night, and she smiled.

* * *

 _This way._

 _The thud of his hooves on the uneven ground pulse like the racing cadence of his heart._

 _This way._

 _He throws his head back, slicing through the thickness. At home._

 _At last._

 _Two forms before him, the wolf and the dog, a pack of their own, the sounds in the night._

 _Paws and hoofbeats, rhythmic, unsteady, the gentle flurry of the summer breeze like a kiss against their backs, freedom. Freedom. Free._

 _Faster. Faster._

 _The other two pick up speed, colliding and rolling over each other and then taking off again._

 _This way._

 _A bolt of speed, because. Because, because. So free it's painful, so limitless it's crushing. The muscles in his legs, the lightness in his step, the flurry of his racing pulse. Light and color in flashes and fades. Their bodies without distinction. The earth without distinction._

 _Running to, running away, moon and earth and stars. Sky above them, earth below them, peace and comfort and fire and torment within._

 _Love behind him, in bed, in peace; in wait. Her eyes like the moon, embedded in his soul. He'll share with her, he will—she'll love the rush, she'll share his pulse—but not just yet. Tonight, just them._

 _No leader, no follower, no decisions. This way, yes, but then this way, and faster._

 _Faster._

 _Faster!_

 _He tenses all of his muscles only to relax them again, to feel them burning under his skin, the tension giving way as his feet lift from the ground; grounded while in flight._

 _He kisses the air and the air kisses back, alight, alive, in love._

 _This, he thinks, and it's enough. Freedom, he thinks, and it's enough._

 _Freedom, he thinks, and the earth kisses back._

 _Freedom._

 _Freedom._

 _Free._

* * *

 _ **FIN**_

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _A portion of my original author's note from 2016 was as follows:_

We all know how this ends, so there will be no epilogue; the only thing you may not be aware of is that Darian Mulciber, a man of his word, is convicted for his crimes and sits for thirteen years in Azkaban while Caleb Avery, like Lucius Malfoy, claims to have been under the Imperius curse in order to avoid imprisonment.

 _I later wrote a story called_ _ **Four Things**_ _as a follow up to Darian and Caleb's relationship, which can be found as chapter 3 in my Draught of Living Death story collection. The playlist for this fic is still available on Spotify, where you can find me with my username, olivieblake. If you have interest in my original work (including my book,_ Masters of Death _), you can find me at olivieblake dot com._ _If you like my dramione works, How to Win Friends and Influence People is currently winding down to its final chapters, and another WIP will begin soon._

 _Thank you for reading, whether for the first time or as part of the Youth Revival Tour 2k18._ _As always, it has been an honor to put down these words for you, and I hope you enjoyed the story._

 _xx Olivie_


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